


Escaping Reality

by DragonGirl87



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Alcoholic Draco Malfoy, Angst, BAMF Astoria Greengrass, BAMF Ginny Weasley, Divorced Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Dubious Consent, Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley Friendship, Head Auror Harry Potter, Hero Complex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Masturbation in Shower, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Alternating, Scorpius Malfoy & Albus Severus Potter Friendship, Sexual Fantasy, Slow Build Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Slow Burn, Therapy, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2020-04-07 05:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19078453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonGirl87/pseuds/DragonGirl87
Summary: Post-war, Draco Malfoy did exactly what was expected of him; he married for convenience and produced an heir to the Malfoy name. Ten years later, and heavily struggling with alcoholism, he's lost and his wife is at her wits' end. There's only one person who can help Draco now and he's the very last person on earth Draco wants help from. Exactly what will happen when Harry Potter, against Draco's will, takes charge of his life?





	1. Draco's Struggle

**Author's Note:**

> Right, pull up a chair, I've got a bit of a story to tell / want to reminisce. Or skip my lengthy foreword and just enjoy the story, whatever works for you. This ramble is what works for me.
> 
> So, well, I've been an avid reader ( _and eventually also writer_ ) of M/M fan fiction for as long as I care to remember; from the get go **gay romance** was always my choice, I never questioned it, just rolled with it.
> 
> Anyway, in my early twenties I used to write all the time and until late into the night, then life happened ( _and that other thing writers don't talk about_ ) and I stopped writing for nearly eight years, maybe even a little more.
> 
> In 2018 I decided to delete all stories on FF.net and get myself an AO3 account. Once approved, I posted some of my early work ( _after reworking them a little, though not as much as I could have - ***grin*** \- the writing makes me cringe and apart from being too lazy to rework my early stuff completely, I kinda like the idea of being able to look back at it and say "damnit woman, once upon a time you really sucked, now you're at least half-decent"_) and then started writing a lot of new stuff. It's been nearly a year ( _apparently my AO3 anniversary is the 15th of July, 2018_ ) and I've pretty much written non-stop.
> 
> I've learnt, I've grown, I've researched, I've laughed, I've cried, I've written stories that left the feeling strange for days, and I've made some amazing friends. I'm not sure if I needed that very long break away from fandom and writing but whatever life choices at the time made me take a step back, well, they don't matter now. I'm back and I feel stronger than ever. I feel more confident and I'm bolder, more daring. I know who I am, mostly. I think I've finally grown up.
> 
> Somehow, over the last ten months, I managed to produce enough content that once I hit the **POST** button on this story, I will have reached **_50 WORKS_** and last week I spontaneously decided that I needed to do a little something special to mark that milestone.
> 
> Since **Drarry** has been one of my favourite OTP for as long as I can remember, I kidnapped those two hot boys ( _read: "asked my two favourite handsome wizards politely for their participation"_ ) for the purpose of writing this story.
> 
> As for the topic, I asked a bunch of fellow Drarryheads on Facebook for some prompts and received a flood of suggestions.
> 
> One prompt in particular resonated with me, namely post-war Draco struggling with alcoholism and Harry, still the hero, swooping in to save the day. Yes, folks, I'm going dark and angsty for this story. This is a topic I've never tackled, one that I've had to research and the idea of trying my hand at something new to mark my 50th story excites me. I don't know if it will be what you expect or what I expect but we'll see.
> 
> It will take a couple of chapters to tell this tale and I shall by posting at my own leisure, though you can expect this story to be completed within a month. I know read-as-the-writer-posts isn't a lot of people's cup of tea and you're welcome to wait until it's completed ( _or not read this story at all, whatever floats your boat_ ) but I'm writing this to celebrate my own personal milestone and as such it's my rules. You can take a chance and take this journey with me or you can meet me at the finish line.
> 
> Either way, thank you for reading and please enjoy the first chapter of my anniversary story.

* * *

Draco couldn’t remember when exactly the occasional tumbler of Firewhiskey after dinner had become a much more regular occurrence, well, he could but he didn’t want to, not particularly anyway, though he strongly suspected that it had started sometime after he and Astoria had married back in early 2001.

He’d done it mostly to spite his parents, who had, on more than one occasion, expressed their disappointment over Astoria’s liberal views when it came to Muggles and Muggle-born. Back then, Draco had really wanted to tell his father to just shut the fuck up and keep his unpopular opinions to himself but Lucius Malfoy wasn’t the kind of man you insulted, not with words anyway. They had no impact on him, he had too thick a skin for that.

No, Lucius Malfoy was the kind of man you insulted with actions, such as marrying a pureblood witch who gave a flying fuck about the point of view others wanted her to have and dared to speak her own mind. The advantage of marrying Astoria, despite his parents’ vocal disapproval had been that Lucius, desperate for a male heir to continue to Malfoy line, hadn’t disowned him.

In the aftermath of the war, Draco had welcomed anything that would set him apart from the ancient beliefs his parents had held so dear for all their lives — beliefs that had nearly destroyed them.

He vaguely remembered briefly considering coming out as gay but had decided against it — somehow, he’d had the feeling that Mother and Father would have eventually found a way to accept his wayward attraction towards the same gender, whereas a complete departure from the traditional pureblood values, the Malfoy family had upheld for generations, had seemed like a sure-fire way to infuriate his parents for all eternity. It had worked, for the most part anyway. When the Healers at St. Mungo had confirmed Astoria’s pregnancy and a gender-identification spell had confirmed the baby was male, Lucius had transferred the Malfoy estate over to him and he and Narcissa had moved to the South of France to retire. Draco couldn’t remember when he’d last seen them and he didn’t care for their company.

Back when he’d courted Astoria, at the tender age of twenty-one, thoroughly damaged from the war and after years of enduring Aunt Bellatrix’ mind games, it had been easy to convince himself that marrying Daphne’s younger sister was an excellent idea.

Now, aged thirty-one, Draco considered himself wiser and thought he knew better.

It had taken him ten wedding anniversaries and the birth of his son, his only blessing on his slow descent into hell, to realise that marrying Astoria had been the worst decision he’d made in his entire life; worse even than the night he’d agreed to take the Dark Mark, not that he’d had much choice in the matter back then.

His decade-long love affair with the destroying force that was alcohol hadn’t happened overnight, that much he knew.

It had been a gradual process; one that had taken several years to properly manifest and by the time his suspicions over whether he had a drinking problem or not had become an irrefutable fact, it had been too late to do anything about it.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. It hadn’t been too late, and there had indeed been moments when he’d contemplated seeking help and giving it all up — especially on the night Scorpius had been born and for a few weeks after that — but every time that thought had crossed his mind, other darker thoughts had come right along with it; sharp reminders that sobering up, and more importantly staying sober, meant having to actually deal with the demons in his head. No, thank you.

He’d spent years suppressing those demons and making sure that they stayed firmly locked up in some dark twisted corner of his mind. He hadn’t wanted them then and he didn’t want them now.

The simple solution to avoiding the demons had been to drink even more and these days Draco could hardly remember the last time he’d been truly sober. There was no point to it or if there was Draco failed to discern it.

Sobriety was a chore; it was difficult and it required strength he didn’t have.

Inebriation came easy; it was an escape from reality and the mess he was sure he’d made of his life.

Years ago, he’d relied on hangover potions to rid himself of the annoying head splitting tension headache and stomach-churning nausea that always bothered him the morning after but as of late two or three tumblers of Firewhiskey for breakfast were far more effective. Another added benefit was that the alcohol usually stopped his hands from shaking uncontrollably and made it possible to put on a semi-believable show for Scorpius while they ate breakfast, pretending to be the family they weren’t.

Astoria was impossible to fool but he’d long since given up on hiding his dependence on the drink from her.

Throwing galleons from the Malfoy vaults at the wretched woman usually shut her up, though sadly never for longer than a day or two.

Draco couldn’t understand what sick pleasure she derived from pestering him about getting professional help and treatment for alcohol addiction.

Yes, he had a problem and no, he didn’t want to do anything about.

Yes, he drank too much and no, he didn’t need her telling him so, repeatedly.

In his opinion, Astoria was the one who needed counselling — counselling on how to stop her pretence to entice him to give up the only thing that kept him sane.

> _I’m concerned about you and your health._
> 
> _Draco, please, stop it, you’re slowly killing yourself._
> 
> _If not for me, then at least for the sake of your son!_

Those were some of her favourite phrases. She especially used them on the days when she thought she stood a fighting chance, though Draco couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this gentle with him.

These days all she ever did was to yell about filing for divorce, taking Scorpius, and leaving the Manor together with their boy.

Those were the threats which infuriated Draco beyond imagination.

How dare she threaten to take away _his_ son, _his_ own flesh and blood, _his_ heir!

There were times he barely managed to resist the temptation to draw his wand to curse Astoria but he’d long since lost the ability to control his magic, to channel it properly, and to focus long enough to utter the incantation required to cause Astoria unspeakable pain.

In his more lucid moments, Draco liked to entertain the idea of throwing a full bottle of Firewhiskey at Astoria’s head to silence her but considering how stubborn she was, he highly doubted the bottle would cause much damage — if anything, the more likely outcome of attempting to murder Astoria the Muggle way would be the loss of a fine bottle of the only potion that ensured the demons remained buried and locked up.

He’d tried to explain it to her once but she hadn’t understood. Arguing with her had made him anxious and irritable and after a rather epic emotional outburst on his part, she’d run from his study in tears.

Why? He hadn’t been able to fathom, Astoria was an enigmatic person at best, and too exhausted to follow her, he’d simply settled in his wingback chair behind his desk and poured himself a rather generous drink.

* * *

 


	2. Last Resort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your wonderful comments thus far, here's the next chapter of this rather dark tale.

* * *

Astoria wrapped her arm protectively around Scorpius and steadied him as one of the Ministry’s lifts speedily carried them from the Atrium to the second level.

A clear ping resonated around the metallic lift box and a cool clear female voice announced that they’d arrived at their destination, then the iron gates slid open.

Politely excusing herself, Astoria pushed passed two Ministry employees, took Scorpius’ hand, and squeezing it tightly, she exited the lift together with her son.

They walked down the short corridor and up to the frameless double obscure glass doors.

As Astoria reached out to wrap her fingers around the slender stainless-steel handle, Scorpius rather insistently tugged on her other hand and she paused and turned her head. Despite her hurry, she smiled down at her son, who pointed at the fancy black lettering on the door.

“Mummy what is the _Deep-art-ment of Magical Law End-for-cee-ment_?” he asked.

His clear silvery-grey eyes, the exact same shade as his father’s eyes, were wide open and his expression curious.

Astoria chuckled softly.

“Not quite, darling, but well done for trying so hard to read it right. _Department of Magical Law Enforcement_ is how we read that,” she said, correcting Scorpius’ reading mistake.

“Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

Scorpius repeated, this time pronouncing the words correctly, and Astoria beamed at him, feeling ever so proud of her little boy for never missing an opportunity to practice his reading. It was one of his favourite pastimes and ever since he’d started to attend the local Muggle primary school in Wiltshire, he was adamant to read her a story each night before bedtime. Depending on the book he chose, sometimes getting him to agree to turn off the lights took a little longer but Astoria never minded much.

Any minute she spent reading with Scorpius was another minute she could keep her mind off Draco drinking himself into oblivion in his study downstairs; a habit that had long since become a daily occurrence.

Up until about a year ago, he tried his hardest to keep his alcohol addiction hidden from Scorpius but lately things were rapidly spiralling out of control and Scorpius had started to notice things — things he didn’t understand and because Astoria hadn’t raised him to be afraid to speak his mind, he outright questioned the things he didn’t understand. He did so with the childish innocence of a little boy who’d only just turned six but he had a supple mind and great imagination and Astoria’s greatest fear was he would have to witness his father slowly committing suicide in front of his eyes.

> _Mummy, why does dad walk funny?_
> 
> _Mummy, why does dad talk like that?_
> 
> _Mummy, why does dad have a cut on his hand?_
> 
> _Mummy, is dad sick again?_

Hearing Scorpius ask all these questions, questions Astoria could only answer with lies, broke her heart.

She’d reached the end of her tethers and today’s visit to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was a final act of desperation — she didn’t know what else to do. Astoria had no idea what good could possibly come out of it and had already mentally prepared herself for an outright rejection but apart from packing her bags and taking Scorpius to New York, she didn’t know how to help Draco.

At this stage, she’d tried everything and this was her last resort, one last attempt at finding someone who could perhaps help her to fix Draco. He was in too deep to help himself and she knew that he would never listen to her.

Acutely aware that Scorpius was still waiting for an answer, Astoria pushed any further musings to the back of her mind and smiling at her son, she ruffled through his beautifully soft platinum-blond hair.

There was no discernible difference between Scorpius and photographs from his father’s childhood; the two of them looked so alike they could very well be twins. Scorpius, much like his father, was precious. He was smart, funny and an absolute joy to be around.

One couldn’t say the same about Draco but he was gravely ill and desperately needed help.

Astoria knew that Draco loved his son and she had the distinct feeling that he would do everything for his little boy.

Unfortunately, he was in too deep and unable to fight his addiction on his own. The demons had gotten hold of him a long time ago and they refused to let go. These days, things were so bad that Draco had lost all control over his magic. It still existed deep inside of him but he’d lost the ability to channel it and Astoria couldn’t remember when she’d last seen him cast even a simple spell.

She shook her head and hastily pulled herself out of her musings, lest Scorpius got impatient. He looked about a second away from stomping his foot and crossing his arms over his chest. The only thing he had yet to master properly was the famous icy Malfoyesque death glare. Astoria chuckled to herself and finally spoke.

“That’s where the Aurors work, darling, and we’re going to see one of them.”

Scorpius frowned.

“Mummy, why do we need to see the Aurors?”

Astoria continued to smile reassuringly although deep inside that was the last thing she wanted to do and in a rather pathetic attempt to keep Scorpius’ mind at rest, she stretched the truth as far as it would go.

“We’re going to visit an old friend of your dad’s. Harry Potter.”

Scorpius’ face lid up brighter than the Manor’s Christmas tree on Christmas morning and he practically beamed. His voice was much higher than it had been only seconds ago and his eyes sparkled with excitement. To him, Harry Potter was a bit of a God. Astoria had told him a few stories and he’d seen his photograph on several Chocolate Frog cards.

“Wow! Harry Potter! Harry Potter! Harry Potter! Let’s go. We mustn’t keep him waiting, Mummy, I’m sure he’s very busy.”

“And doesn’t know we’re coming.”

Astoria sighed, mumbling the words under her breath.

She pushed the doors to the department open and before she could stop Scorpius, he dashed inside.

Hurrying after him, Astoria quickly grabbed his hand and they approached the reception desk where an elderly witch with auburn hair greeted them politely but without a smile. She wore midnight-blue Ministry-issued robes, identifying her as administrative staff.

Astoria opened her mouth with the very intention to politely request whether it might be possible for her to speak with Director Potter, the Head of the Auror Department, in private but Scorpius quite effectively beat her to it, though he did so with far less eloquence and the innocence of a child that meant well.

He pulled his hand out of Astoria’s grasp, grabbed on to the edge of the reception desk and greeted the bored-looking witch.

“We’re here to see Harry Potter!” he announced quite loudly and with a most earnest expression. “Could you please tell us where his office is, Ma’am?”

Astoria put one hand on Scorpius’ shoulder and squeezed it lightly. She was about to apologise for his brashness when the elderly witches’ expression shifted from cool indifference to mild amusement.

“And is Mr Potter expecting you, young man?” she asked.

Scorpius twisted his head around and looked up at Astoria.

“Mummy, is Harry Potter expecting us?”

“I’m afraid not, darling,” Astoria said.

She turned her attention to the witch behind the reception desk.

“Ma’am, would it be possible to bother Director Potter for a short while? Just five minutes. It’s really rather important.”

The witches’ expression hardened and she firmly shook her head.

“If I let everyone through who claims to have important business with Director Potter, the poor man would never get any work done or be able to go home to his children. The answer to your request is no. You can make an appointment. I’ve got something available in two months’ time.”

“Two months?”

Astoria gaped.

“Impossible. That’s too late. It’s of utmost importance that I get a quick meeting with Mr Potter. Please, Ma’am. It’s a matter of li—”

Astoria hastily stopped herself from finishing that sentence lest Scorpius or the reception witch got the wrong idea and called the Aurors for reinforcement.

“It would mean everything if you could help, please. You may tell him that it concerns my husband.”

Astoria was quite aware that she sounded desperate but she’d long since stopped caring. She’d begged Draco to stop drinking so many times that she’d lost count. She’d even gotten down on her knees in front of him. Begging this bored-looking witch for five minutes of Harry Potter’s time made no difference to her.

“Lady, if you knew how often I’ve heard those words.”

The reception witch drawled her response with a bored eye roll which instantly infuriated Astoria though she bravely swallowed her anger and let it pool in the pit of her stomach.

“Make an appointment or go home, those are the only two choices you have.”

“Please.”

Astoria continued to plead. She was loath to give up before she’d tried absolutely everything and was entirely unconcerned about the fact that she sounded thoroughly distressed. It was the truth and even if the reception witch didn’t care, Astoria had no way of switching her feelings off. One way or another she would get to Harry Potter today and she didn’t care if it resulted in spending a night in the Auror holding cells.

“Nope, not a chance,” the witch said.

This time, she didn’t even look up from the black calendar book in front of her.

Astoria bit back a sigh and looked around the department.

The thick red carpet in the corridor swallowed any and all footsteps and the elaborate golden lamps along the black tiled walls provided ample light but also gave the place a rather welcoming feel, which, considering that nobody particularly enjoyed a visit to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was odd.

She also spotted Scorpius standing in front of a closed obscure glass door about fifty feet down the corridor and was about to call out to him but he’d already raised his hand and she watched in slow motion as he knocked on the glass.

A short moment later, the door opened and none other than Harry Potter appeared in the doorframe.

His facial expression told Astoria that he’d instantly recognised Scorpius and knew exactly whose son presently stood in front of him but he bravely schooled his features and forced himself to smile.

Astoria glanced at the reception witch but since she was still looking down at her planner, she decided to chance it and stepping away from the desk, she moved towards Scorpius and Harry.

When she was about five metres away, Scorpius very excitedly called out to her.

“Mummy, I found Harry Potter for you! It wasn’t difficult, his name’s on the door!”

Astoria’s first reaction was to turn her head and just in time too, for the reception witch had risen to her feet and drawn her wand, however, Harry cut in before she managed to cast her first spell.

“Cornelia, please, it’s alright.”

“But—” the reception witch objected, clearly displeased and with her wand still trained on Astoria, who showed the feisty reception witch her palms in the hope of appeasing her — it was like she didn’t know that visitors to the Ministry for Magic were subjected to a magical search upon entry and had to surrender their wands at the security station in the Atrium for the duration of their visit.

“I mean it, Cornelia. I know this little boy and his mother.”

Harry insisted and the reception witch slowly lowered her wand and reclaimed her seat, though not without glaring and crossing her arms over the chest.

Astoria exhaled with relief and giving a slight nod, she took several steps forward and instinctively wrapped both her arms around Scorpius, hugging him tight and pulling him a little further away from the door.

“Mrs Malfoy, I can’t say I expected you today but since you’re already here, won’t you join me and your son in my office?” Harry asked.

He stepped back into his office and away to the side, allowing them both to enter, then closed the door behind them. Astoria couldn’t help but let her eyes sweep around the office. The decoration was for comfort rather than to exhibit power and luxury and she quite liked that. It proved that Harry Potter was still as down to earth as he’d always been.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Astoria could tell that it was taking him every ounce of self-restraint to remain calm, cool, and professional and she suspected the only reason he succeeded at it was the fact that Scorpius was in the room with them and he had enough decorum not to question her motives for invading his department in front of a young child.

“I’m not sure it’s a pleasure,” Astoria said quietly.

She fervently wished that she still had her wand with her so she could cast a Silencing Bubble around Scorpius.

Suddenly, bringing him along to the Ministry didn’t feel like such a good idea anymore. However, she simply hadn’t wanted to leave him at the Manor and risk him exploring the house and accidentally stumbling into his father’s study. The last she wanted was for Scorpius to find Draco completely inebriated or possibly even passed out on the floor, covered in his own vomit, and reeking of alcohol after drinking decidedly too much Firewhiskey all at once.

“I see. Well, would you like to take a seat?”

Astoria was grateful that Harry had pointed at the comfortable three-seater black leather sofa to his left rather than the two wooden chairs that stood in front of his desk. He walked towards it, his grand scarlet Auror robes billowing behind him as he moved. They swished around his legs as he turned to face them and before moving to sit on the sofa; he reached for the clasp at his collar and was about to undo it when Scorpius protested rather heavily, causing Astoria to flush with mild embarrassment over her son’s infatuation with Harry Potter, the Auror. Then again, what was not to love? The man was handsome, there was no doubt about it. He stood tall, had a muscular frame, and compared to Scorpius’ pale complexion, naturally inherited from his father, his natural golden tan made him look like an Adonis. He still wore glasses but they were a lot more stylish than those he’d worn during his days at Hogwarts.

“No, don’t, please, Mr Potter, Sir, I’ve never seen an Auror in real life.”

Harry chuckled and the gentle sound of his laughter warmed Astoria’s heart. His hand fell away from the clasp just below the collar of his uniform and lowering himself down onto the sofa cushion on the far right, he invitingly patted the empty one beside him with the flat of his hand.

“Come on, little man, sit with me,” he said.

Scorpius wriggled out of Astoria’s arms and excitedly ran over to the sofa. He climbed up onto the cushion and sat back on his haunches. Astoria clicked her tongue but Harry shrugged and shook his head, letting her know that he didn’t mind and with an inaudible sigh, she, too, headed over to the sofa and sat down.

“I want to be an Auror after I get my Hogwarts letter,” Scorpius said, twisting his tiny fingers into Harry’s robes.

“Really?”

Scorpius nodded excitedly.

“Yes, Mr Potter, Sir.”

“Hm, young man, then you’ll have to study really hard. You’ve got to be very good at Defence Against The Dark Arts, Charms, Potions and Transfiguration.”

“I can do that,” Scorpius said.

“Scorpius, it’ll still be a while before you’re off to Hogwarts.”

Astoria tried to remind her son before he got a little too hyper about the prospect of studying at the famed School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

“I know, five more years. Such a long time, I want to go now.”

Harry smiled.

“You’re just like my son Al; he talks about nothing but attending Hogwarts all day.”

He reached out and ruffled Scorpius’ hair affectionately and Astoria’s heart broke a little.

She couldn’t remember the last time Draco had done that to Scorpius and she desperately wished that he would spend just a little more time with his son but to be able to do that he needed to sober up first.

“You have a son, Mr Potter, Sir?”

Harry laughed.

“I have three children, Scorpius. Two boys and one little girl. Al is your age. I believe you were born the same year. I think you’d get on like a house on fire.”

“Hm, you and Al can come by the Manor to play if you like. I’ve got loads of toys and space.”

Harry smiled and lifting his gaze away from Scorpius, he caught Astoria’s eye and winked at her. She couldn’t help but smile in response to his kindness and something inside her chest snapped painfully. She knew that Draco and Harry had been in the same year at Hogwarts but given Draco’s involvement with Voldemort they’d fought on opposite sides.

After the war, and although Harry’s testimonial in front of the Wizengamot had resulted in Draco and his parents receiving a full pardon from the Minister, they’d settled for cold indifference towards each other instead of trying to build bridges and possibly even become friends. Harry had certainly tried to reach out but Draco had, for whatever inexplicable reason, withdrawn. He hadn’t even put up a fight. Astoria had heard the stories, while at Hogwarts, Draco had always found a way to antagonise Harry and infuriate him but after the war, he’d settled for ignorance and had hidden away in his own little bubble.

“Say, young man, how would you feel about spending an hour or so with a very good friend of mine and some of the Auror trainees? I bet you could learn some cool things and maybe we can even find you an Auror uniform. We might have to charm it a little to fit you, but I’m sure we can work something out. What do you say? Are you interested?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, please!”

Scorpius bounced excitedly on the sofa and Astoria reached out to calm him a little.

“Behave yourself, darling, we’re guests in Director Potter’s office.”

“Harry will do.”

A first name, an olive branch. The lump in Astoria’s throat melted a little and she nodded.

“Astoria,” she offered in return and Harry smiled.

Scorpius stopped bouncing quite so much and twisted his head around to look at Astoria.

“Sorry, mummy.”

“It’s alright, darling.”

Harry moved off the sofa and towards the door. Astoria watched him open it and step outside. He called out for somebody though what with more than half of her attention focused on Scorpius, Astoria didn’t quite catch the name. A minute later, however, when a tall young man with flaming red hair and freckles stepped into Harry’s office, she instantly recalled it — Ronald Weasley, Harry’s best friend and his right-hand man in the department.

“Would you mind looking after this delightful young man for a while, maybe show him around the department while I talk to his mother?” Harry asked.

Ronald Weasley frowned.

“You want me to look after the Malfoy boy?” he hissed.

His voice was somewhat low but still loud enough for Astoria to catch the words.

She watched with silent amusement as Harry, instead of bothering with a verbal response, kicked Ronald Weasley in the back of the knee.

“Behave yourself, Ron. He’s lovely and _please_. Do me that favour.”

Ronald Weasley sighed.

“Funny how I always end up with babysitting responsibilities. You’d think I’d get a break from it at work, but no, even here you give me children to entertain while everyone else works on the important stuff.”

He grumbled under his breath though Astoria could tell that there was no bite to his bark.

“You and George are the fun uncles and dads,” Harry shrugged, then turned his head to wink at Astoria.

“Hm, yeah, like you’re not.”

Ronald Weasley rolled his eyes, then abruptly turned his attention to Scorpius.

“Young man, what’s your name?”

“Scorpius Malfoy, Sir.”

“Well Scorp, Harry here tells me you want a tour around the department, perhaps meet a couple of Aurors, learn some spells?”

Scorpius vigorously nodded his head.

“Yes, please.”

He turned to look at Astoria and the excitement that sparkled in her little boy’s face instantly melted her heart.

“Can I, mummy, please?” he asked.

“Yes, darling, run along,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you!”

Instead of sliding off the sofa and running over to Ronald Weasley and Harry, Scorpius threw his little arms around Astoria’s neck and hugged her tight, then pressed a sloppy his to her cheek.

“You’re the best mummy ever.”

Astoria laughed and playfully patting her son’s behind, she shooed him off.

“Off you go, come back an Auror and make your mummy proud.”

“I will, I promise.”

With those words, Scorpius scrambled off the couch and ran up to Harry.

“Thank you, Mr Potter, Sir.”

“You can call me Harry too.”

Harry laughed, once again warming Astoria’s heart and even though she’d yet to tell him the real reason for her visit, she couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he’d be willing to help put Draco back on the straight and narrow.

“Oh, OK. Thank you, Harry.”

“You’re welcome, young man. Now, go with Ron here and have loads of fun, yes?”

Scorpius nodded and when Ronald Weasley offered him his large calloused hand, Scorpius slipped his own small one inside and they left the office.

Harry closed his office door behind them, then returned to the sofa and taking off his Auror robes, he placed them over the armrest beside him and sat back down.

“Alright, Ron will keep your boy busy for at least an hour. What is it I can help you with?”

Astoria sighed.

“I’m not sure you can actually help me but you’re my last resort.”

“That serious, eh?”

Astoria nodded.

“It’s about my husband,” she said quietly.

She instantly noted the way Harry inhaled sharply and sat up straighter in response to her mention of Draco.

His expression hardened a little and he folded his hands in his lap, although Astoria could tell, he would have preferred to defiantly fold them across his chest.

“I thought as much. What’s the matter with Draco Malfoy then?”

Astoria looked at Harry for a moment, unsure as to how to start but then she suddenly felt unable to hold back anymore and for the next hour she poured her heart out while Harry listened quietly, nodding here and there and occasionally asking the one or other question to garner more information.

She told him everything about how she’d agreed to marry Draco even though she’d known that he didn’t love her and that he’d only proposed to spite his parents.

She told him how he’d tried to be a good loving husband but how he’d quickly become unable to pretend and how he’d turned towards alcohol to keep his inner demons at bay instead.

She told him how, in the beginning, he’d tried to control himself, how he’d even tried to give it all up after Scorpius had been born but how he’d relapsed less than two months after Scorpius’ birth and how things had steadily gotten worse after that.

She even told him how he treated her now and whenever she somehow tried to help, though made sure to stress that he’d never actually assaulted her and mentioned how nothing seemed to work.

The threat to divorce him and leave together with Scorpius only angered him but didn’t seem to frighten him in the slightest or if it did frighten him, he didn’t seem convinced that she’d do it.

After she finished her decade-long tale, Astoria felt emotionally drained, a little teary and thoroughly exhausted, and when Harry silently handed her a cup of strong black tea with extra sugar, she gratefully accepted the warm beverage and wrapped both her hands around the large red Gryffindor mug.

“I don’t mean to cause you any more heartache, Astoria, but I’m not sure how I can help your husband. I’m not a qualified counsellor nor am I a Healer and I know next to nothing about alcohol withdrawal and detox treatment.”

“Anything, Harry, absolutely anything. At this stage, I think I’d agree to made-up charges of battery just so he gets away from the drink. He’s killing himself and he can’t stop.”

“Somehow, I don’t think to throw Draco into Azkaban is the right answer to his problem.”

“ _Please_ , I know I’m asking a lot but you’ve always been able to get under his skin. I’ve heard the stories. Some from him, some from my older sister. If you show up in his life again, maybe it’ll give him a push in the right direction.”

“Or he’ll lose the plot and drink himself into oblivion.”

“He does that already, every night. It wouldn’t make a difference. Please, Harry. I know he doesn’t love me. He never has, I was never the person he wanted to spend his life with. I don’t think I ever loved him either. I was young and infatuated; enamoured by him lavishing his attention on me. Accepting his marriage proposal was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but I know, with all my heart, that he loves his son. He doesn’t want Scorpius to see him like this but he’s in too deep to pull himself out without help. He needs a slap in the face but not from me. I’m thinking you’re the right person for the job. As his on-paper-wife, the only thing I can do is to temporarily take control of the estate and have him declared legally and mentally incompetent.”

Harry smiled.

“Why do I have the feeling that you’re not going to leave my office until I agree to help?”

Astoria sighed.

“Because you, Harry Potter, are my last chance to stop my husband from committing suicide in the worst possible way and I’ll be damned if I stand aside and watch him do that. His son needs a father and I won’t be around forever. The war left all of us with scars and he’s not getting out of dealing with his own that easily. I’ve watched him slowly but surely destroy himself for the last ten years, it’s enough. It’s time for an intervention.”

Harry frowned.

“What do you mean you won’t be around forever?”

Astoria lifted the mug of tea to her lips, took several small sips, then lowered the mug and let it rest in her lap. She exhaled slowly, then lifted her gaze and looked at Harry.

“I’m sick, very sick. I’m not sure I’ll still be alive when Scorpius gets his Hogwarts letter. Perhaps I’m being selfish but I need to know that my husband is well enough to take care of his son after my death. I need to know that he’ll be loved and cared for and I’ve every faith in Draco’s ability to be a good father but first, he needs to get organised and stop drinking himself to death.”

This time it was Harry’s turn to sigh.

“Will you at least agree to give me forty-eight hours to come up with the resemblance of a plan?”

Astoria sipped on her sugary tea, forced a weak smile, and nodded.

“If you promise to help. Please?”

“I’ll try. You’re not going to demand an Unbreakable Vow, are you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Astoria barely managed to stop herself from snorting into her tea.

“I trust that you’re a man of your word.”

“I am. And I promise I’ll think of something, anything. I can’t promise you results but I’ll try, you have my word.”

“Harry Potter. Always the Saviour.”

Harry chuckled.

“Say that again and I’ll kick you out of my office and keep your son for ransom.”

Astoria laughed, then rapidly schooled her expression into a very serious one.

“I’d sooner take the Killing Curse before I let anything happen to my son, Harry,” she said.

Harry nodded.

“I feel the same about my three kids.”

* * *

 


	3. The Woman Behind The Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, it's been a crazy two weeks and today things were just as crazy as they have been but the end is near and today I used writing this chapter as therapy. A solid distract from all the report cards and evaluations I've been doing, along with all the marking I've done and still have to do.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, it should provide you with a little bit of insight as what will happen next, which is when things will start to get really dark.

* * *

Harry twisted his head around and looked up at Ginny, who’d entered the kitchen and placed her hand on his shoulder. She was squeezing it gently and smiled down at him. He brought his hand up to rest on top of hers.

“All asleep,” she said with a rather triumphant smile.

“Thanks, G. You’re a miracle worker.”

Ginny laughed.

“You wish, Potter. Nope, I used good old-fashioned bribery.”

“Oh?”

Harry raised an eyebrow at Ginny, who let go of his shoulder, walked around the kitchen table of the place that had once been their matrimonial home, and sat down. She poured herself a mug of tea from the large teapot, Harry had made earlier, and leaning back, she took a few careful sips of the hot beverage then smirked deviously over the rim of her tea mug.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to get up early tomorrow, dad. I told your rascals that daddy is making his famed blueberry pancakes with vanilla ice-cream for breakfast.”

Harry groaned.

“I want to say I hate you—”

“But you also want my help so you’ll say no such thing.”

“It’s scary how well you know me.”

Ginny shrugged.

“I’ve known you long enough, don’t you think?”

Harry nodded, then let out a low sigh and set his mug down on the table. He rubbed his temples.

“Thanks for coming by on short notice. I know it’s my week and your night off and all but—”

“Potter, shut it. Those are _our_ children and if you think that I mind putting them to bed, well, then I’m taking you to St. Mungo’s to check for spell damage.”

Harry attempted to protest but Ginny raised her hand and instead of trying to have the last word, he simply clamped his mouth shut and continued to drink his tea. He smiled and stretching his legs out under the table, he gently nudged his socked foot against the side of Ginny’s leg. Once upon a time, he absolutely would have run his toes up her leg to tease her but tonight he did no such thing. She reciprocated his smile and Harry shamelessly decided that he absolutely was a lucky bastard. He had a fulfilling career at the Ministry, three wonderful children, an immensely talented godson, truly amazing friends, and an ex-wife who was always only a phone call away.

He and Ginny had married way too soon after the war and while they’d worked hard on their marriage, things had never been quite right. The night after Lily’s birth, of all possible nights, they’d finally sat down and talked things out. It had taken them nearly a week to put all their cards on the table but their decision to divorce had been a mutual and amicable one. Neither he nor Ginny had any regrets about it.

There hadn’t been any mud-slinging, they hadn’t fought about the custody over James, Al, and Lily, and there most definitely hadn’t been any ill feelings, repressed anger, or bitterness of any kind. They’d simply ended their marriage the same way they’d started it — with a signature at the bottom of an official document.

Afterwards, there hadn’t been any awkwardness either and they’d just gotten on with their lives, taking turns in looking after the children, making them a priority. Along the way, they’d somehow managed to return to simply being the best of friends and if Harry was honest, which he had no qualms about being, he and Ginny were in a much better place now. Ginny was happy with her job at St. Mungo’s and dating a colleague and he had finally taken the plunge and admitted to himself that while he considered women attractive and enjoyed having sex with them, he absolutely preferred the male gender.

Granted, what with three small children and a full-time job as the Head of the Auror Department, he didn’t find all that much time to date but somehow he still managed to sneak in the one or other night out, which usually started with a drink or two and some heavy flirting and ended with steamy hot—

“Earth to Potter!”

Ginny snapped her fingers in front of his face and Harry jumped but pulled himself out of his thoughts. He drank some more tea, then wrapped his hands around his tea mug, relished in the warmth, and shot Ginny an apologetic smile.

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Where’d you just go?” she asked.

“Nowhere particular, just reminiscing.”

“Hm.”

Ginny looked unconvinced but didn’t push him any further and he was grateful for that. He’d called her over for a bit of emotional support and some advice; the kind that one better delivered in person rather than via firecall or over the phone. Besides, the very last thing he wanted to tell her was that he was glad they’d gotten divorced and were now able to live their separate lives.

They sat in comfortable silence for a minute or two, then Ginny cleared her throat.

“Are you sure you want to help Draco Malfoy?”

Harry shook his head and pressed the tip of his index finger into a dent in the wooden table, then scratched his fingernail over the wood.

“No. I feel wholly unqualified to help but I just couldn’t say no to Astoria and it’s not even because she brought their son. I don’t know what made me say yes—”

Ginny cut in with a smile.

“Your hero complex, Harry Potter. It’s always the same with you. It’s in your nature, you want to save everyone, even if they’re possibly already beyond saving.”

Harry frowned.

He didn’t like it much when Ginny psychoanalysed him; he preferred when she stuck to doing that to her patients at the hospital.

“He’s not though,” he said quite stubbornly.

Ginny raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh? Didn’t you just say you felt wholly unqualified to help?”

“I do feel that way but I also think that he isn’t beyond saving.”

Ginny sighed.

“Oh, Harry.”

“What?”

Harry felt his frown deepen and letting go of his tea mug, he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Ginny shook her head.

“Nothing, ignore me.”

“I will not. Out with it.”

Ginny let out another sigh and drank more tea before answering.

“I’m worried, Harry. All you’ve done so far is to promise Astoria you’d help to stop Draco from drinking himself to death, yet I can tell that you’re already far too invested in the matter. Just, I know you don’t like it when I bring work into the conversation, but just be careful. He might not want your help, or if he does want it, he won’t tell you. He will defy you at every turn and it’s going to be frustrating and painful.”

This time it was Harry’s turn to sigh.

For a moment, he wanted to scrape his chair back, stand up and tell Ginny to have a bit of faith in him but he swallowed his mild annoyance right down and after a deep breath, allowed it to be replaced with gratefulness — gratefulness that his ex-wife still cared enough to give it to him straight, even when she knew that he didn’t really want to hear it. He uncrossed his hand and reaching across the table, he took both of Ginny’s hands and squeezed gently.

“Thank you for caring,” he whispered.

Ginny smiled.

“Thanks for not taking offence.”

Harry chuckled.

“I wanted to but maturity won out.”

Ginny laughed.

She pulled her hands away, unhurriedly finished her tea, then reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which she placed on the table but instead of pushing it over to Harry, she put her hand on top of it.

“Still full of surprises, Potter.”

Harry shrugged.

“I know you think I’m insane for doing this but I have to— I want to try.”

“I don’t think you’re insane. Perhaps, mildly out of your mind.”

“Gee, that makes me feel loads better.”

Harry rolled his eyes and getting up, he retrieved a packet of chocolate biscuits from one of the cupboards above the kitchen counter. Opening it up, he pulled out a large biscuit and biting right into it, he put the open package down in the centre of the kitchen table.

“You know, the moment you told me that it was Draco Malfoy, I knew you’d do everything possible to help him,” Ginny said. “You’ve always been obsessed with him.

“I’ve never been ob—” Harry trailed off and sighed.

Instead of arguing, he finished his chocolate biscuit and poured himself a little more tea.

“I suppose so,” he mumbled, seeing no point in denying what was true and had always been true.

Ever since they’d met for the first time, Draco had gotten under his skin and he’d remained there all these years. Sometimes Harry barely felt his presence, other times the itch was so strong that he could barely contain himself. Now that he knew that Draco needed help, desperately so, he simply couldn’t sit back and pretend that he didn’t care. He wanted to at least try.

Harry shook his head and reached for another chocolate biscuit. This time, he dipped it into his tea and polished it off in two bites. Ginny chuckled.

“You’ll need several barrels of patience to make this work, Harry,” she said.

Harry nodded.

“I know.”

“Good, well, if I may offer more professional advice?”

“Please.”

“First of all, I suggest I’ll take James, Al, and Lily. You can, of course, see them whenever you like and spend as much time with them as you want but it’ll be easier for you to focus if you don’t have to worry about it being your week or not.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t even have to think about it. It made perfect sense and he knew that James, Al, and Lily would be safe with Ginny. She tended to work long hours at the hospital, counselling patients, but he knew she’d cut back a little for the sake of spending more time with them. She always did whenever it was her turn. Then there were Ron and Hermione as well as Molly and Arthur who’d all happily help.

“What else?”

“Get Astoria and the boy out of the Manor. Let Draco believe they have left and that his wife is filing for divorce. You said Astoria is willing to take over the estate?”

Harry inclined his head.

“Have her do it, then sign guardianship over to you.”

Harry frowned.

“Why?”

“Trust me, Harry, you will need it. From what you’ve told me, he’s not going to do this out of his own free will and he’ll need someone to make decisions for him, decisions that will be in his best interest, not in the Malfoy estate’s or the Malfoy vaults or even his son’s.”

“I want him to agree to undergo detox, I don’t want to force him.”

Ginny sighed.

“He won’t, Harry. He’s too far gone. The will might be there, buried somewhere deep in his alcoholic haze, but he won’t be strong enough to agree to this on his own. You’ll probably have to drag him to the clinic and what’s going to happen after will be his worst nightmare and yours too. Think it through, Harry. You’ll either succeed in getting him sober or one of you’ll die trying and as harsh as that might sound, I’d rather it not be the father of my children.”

“I—”

Having no actual idea what to say, Harry trailed off and for a moment he buried his face in his hands, then rubbed his tired eyes.

“I feel like I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.”

Ginny smiled. She reached out to him, pulled his hands away from his face and down onto the table, then squeezed them gently.

“You absolutely have, Harry Potter, but you should also know that I remember the kind of boy you were and I know, probably better than anyone, what kind of man you have become. If anyone can do it, it’ll be you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Harry forced a smile, then inhaled deeply, held his breath for a few seconds, and exhaled slowly. The influx of oxygen to his brain and the rest of his body helped him relax and he repeated the action twice more.

“I love you, G,” he whispered.

Ginny flushed a little and as she smiled, Harry suddenly felt glad that she knew exactly how he’d meant those words. It wasn’t a romantic declaration of love but his way of showing her how thankful he was for her help, her input, her willingness to be part of this insane plan, one that had been mainly her idea but one that he fully supported.

“I know,” she answered and pulling her hands away, she handed him the piece of paper, she’d pulled out of her jeans pocket earlier.

“It’s a Muggle place but they are extremely discreet. They often deal with Muggle celebrities and they put privacy first. Ordinarily, I would suggest St. Mungo’s but you said that he’s unable to do magic and detox won’t heal his magical core so you needn’t worry that you’ll have to call in the Obliviators. He might spout some nonsense about magic and wizards and witches but you can explain that away based on his addiction. In fact, you won’t have to. It’s exactly what the staff will think, they won’t believe a word. You can try and convince him to voluntarily admit himself, I’ve arranged for a private room for him and a place for you in the staff quarters in case you want to keep an eye on him.”

“What if he won’t voluntarily have himself admitted for detox treatment?”

“Force him or watch him destroy himself, those are the two choices you have. You can pull rank and utilise your guardianship or you can give up and declare him a lost cause.”

“The hell I will. I didn’t fly him out of the Room of Hidden Things and testify for him at the trials just to watch him slowly commit suicide with bottle after bottle of Firewhiskey.”

Ginny laughed.

“And there’s that hero complex of yours again.”

Harry glared but his expression softened when Ginny pushed the package of biscuits towards him in a silent peace offering.

“I’ll do as much as I can, but I’m afraid he’ll need drugs to help him detox before he can start any sort of counselling which he’ll probably need for the rest of his life. One more thing, Harry, I told you it would be a nightmare but I just want to remind you to be prepared. This won’t be pretty; in fact, it will be very, very ugly. You will see and hear things that will hurt you. I suggest you acquaint yourself with the idea of counselling. I can’t do it but I can recommend a good mind healer if you like.”

Harry nodded.

He wasn’t really all that fond of the idea of counselling sessions but he knew that they worked. They had before and they would again and if Ginny thought it wise, he would listen.

After the war, Ginny had been the one to push him to get therapy and while he’d initially baulked at the very idea of spilling his private thoughts to a stranger, he’d eventually seen the good it did. It had taken two years of regular bi-weekly sessions but to this day, he still credited those for this healthy mindset and the fact that he was able to look back at the war without falling apart at the seams.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he said and smiling warming, he reached for another chocolate biscuit and dipped it into his now lukewarm tea. “Thanks, G.”

Ginny smiled.

“Always, Potter.”


	4. An Act Of Kindness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've tagged everything necessary, however, I would just like to mention that this chapter features detailed descriptions of Draco's alcohol abuse from Harry's POV.
> 
> I wouldn't have been able to write this chapter without ["Shane Filan's ---In The End---"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=icA4ora7JvM)  
> in my head. The lyrics are just perfect for this and I very nearly cried actual tears writing this, in fact, I may still cry actual tears.
> 
> I feel a bit drained now and I'm about to enjoy a whole back of fresh dark sweet cherries to pep myself back up again (Shit is hitting the fan with this chapter and since I don't have any chocolate at home, this will have to do. I may have to go out and buy some chocolate - **K,** Where the hell are you when your sister needs you?!). This had to be written today, it just had to.

* * *

Draco stood, abruptly, swayed, and grabbed hold of the edge of his large mahogany desk to steady himself. He was pale, his hair was in complete disarray and he reeked of alcohol — nothing new, really.

Harry only barely resisted the urge to peg his own nose and pursing his lips tightly together instead, he refrained from commenting.

What he had witnessed throughout the last fortnight of visiting Draco and gently attempting to persuade him to get treatment for his alcohol addiction had been anything but pretty.

In fact, it had been downright nasty.

He’d tried his best to prepare himself, had taken Ginny’s advice and extensively talked with a mind healer and still did; he’d even visited the rehabilitation centre to learn more about their treatment options, how alcohol addiction manifested and the way it was generally treated — most patients’ had personalised recovery plans but there was some overlap that helped him to get a general idea of what he would likely have to force Draco to go through.

None of it had been pretty to learn or see and a small part of him selfishly wished that he hadn’t agreed to help.

But he was knee-deep in the whole mess now and although a persistent voice in his head still urged him to get the hell out and return to his children, Harry continued to firmly ignore it. His sanity was already in danger and Draco was doing absolutely everything he possibly could to make trying to help him a complete nightmare.

Yet for some ridiculous, and quite frankly pointless reason, that only spurred Harry on more, made him want to help.

Ginny had warned him about it, had predicted that he’d invest all his energy trying to do the impossible and she’d been right, he knew that much.

Fortunately, she wasn’t the kind of woman who gloated and said _I told you so_.

No, she was all kinds of supportive and simply wonderful.

She’d voluntarily cut back on her hours at the hospital and spoiled their three children rotten, keeping them sufficiently distracted.

They’d told James, the oldest, that dad was working on a complicated case that required him to work long hours and while that wasn’t exactly the truth, it also wasn’t a lie.

On those evenings that Harry came by to spent a couple of hours with the children, putting them to bed and reading them bedtime stories, Ginny also made sure to hit him with a Refreshing Charm to remove all trace of the lingering scent of Firewhiskey from his clothes, and insisted that he down several different nutritional potions to pep him up.

Harry still frowned at her motherly affection for him but he knew better than to question her intentions.

“Potter, kindly remove yourself from my study.”

Draco slurred his words and effectively pulled Harry out of his reminiscence.

He pushed his thoughts about Ginny and the children aside and leaning back in his chair, Harry defiantly threw his right leg over his left and crossed his arms over his chest.

He couldn’t help but marvel at Draco’s coherency.

Considering that he’d most likely downed at least a whole bottle of Firewhiskey, and then some, it was remarkably easy to understand him.

Then again, Draco had had years of practice. He hadn’t just had one too many at last night’s boring Ministry function, no, he was, for lack of a better term, a _professional_ alcoholic.

Over the last two weeks Harry had learnt that there was always a bottle of Firewhiskey in Draco’s vicinity and it was always at least half full — Draco made sure of that and if he couldn’t, one of the house elves did it for him.

Harry could tell that they didn’t really want to obey and indulge their Master’s destructive addiction but as Draco was the Head of House, they were bound to serve him, no matter how much they disagreed with his life choices.

Although, as of eleven o’clock this morning, Draco was no longer in charge of the Manor, he just didn’t know it yet. He also no longer had access to the Malfoy vaults or had any control over the Malfoy estate.

With Astoria’s and Kingsley Shacklebolt’s help, Harry had, quite stealthily (according to Hermione, in the Wizarding World nobody had ever done anything like this before) relieved Draco of all his rights, even the right to make decisions for himself.

Harry wasn’t exactly proud of what he’d done and he didn’t especially want to be in control of the Manor and the Malfoy vaults. What he wanted even less was to be responsible for Draco, to be his legal guardian. He had three children he needed to parent but now he felt like he had somehow acquired an additional fourth child —a grown man who ought to be able to manage his own life. Alas, Draco was not able to do that and now Harry was calling all the shots.

“Why should I remove myself from your office?”

Harry posed the question as nonchalantly as he possibly could and feigned a smile.

“I’m expecting a visitor,” Draco replied.

Harry raised a curious eyebrow.

“Oh?”

Draco narrowed his eyes, gave him an exasperated look and with a sigh, he reached for his whiskey tumbler and brought it up to his lips.

“You’re infuriatingly annoying. Your presence is neither wanted nor appreciated, not now, not ever, you had your chance and you fucked it up,” Draco said.

He emptied the glass and slammed it down on top of the desk, then pointed his finger at Harry, pointed it as if it was a wand, and swished.

“Disappear, Potter,” he said.

Somewhat unsteady, he stepped away from his desk and walked over to the window to stare out over the grounds of the Manor and Harry suppressed a heavy sigh.

Ordinarily, that sort of gesture, one all three of his children often used when they mimicked his wand movements after watching him perform a spell or two, would have made Harry laugh but now he could only shudder.

Not only was it heart-breaking to see Draco like that, but he also couldn’t fathom how Draco was able to drink Firewhiskey like it was water and not poison.

The stuff positively burnt down your throat and the mere idea of downing a glass of the potent amber beverage made Harry’s stomach churn uncomfortably and he had to fight the urge to be sick.

While Harry didn’t want to admire this ethanol-induced quality, he had to admit that Draco was, mostly, a high-functioning alcoholic — on his good days at least.

He was generally able to walk straight though he did usually keep close to the wall or used a walking cane. He could also conduct himself with a sense of decorum and spoke with only a mild slur.

On his bad days, Draco was barely able to stand up straight and didn’t care about the state of his clothes, what he looked like, where he slept, or when he’d last eaten. If he drank enough to start to vomit, he’d simply wash his mouth with a swig of Firewhiskey, then continue drinking.

Attempting to pry a glass or a bottle from his hands meant you had a death wish. It was also the fastest way of turning Draco into a screaming, screeching banshee — a truly terrifying image.

Granted, ever since Astoria had taken Scorpius away, leaving Draco to believe that she intended to file for divorce and keep his son away from him indefinitely, he’d deteriorated quite drastically.

Harry had been in the room when Astoria had calmly told him she was leaving him and taking their son and justly so.

Draco had attempted to throw all sorts of things at her head but in his drunken stupor is aim was way off — Harry had also put up a shield charm around Astoria to protect her from harm. When he’d realised that physically injuring Astoria wasn’t going to be successful, Draco had resolved to scream at her for an extended period. He’d shouted, called her the vilest of names — just thinking about them now made Harry shudder — and threatened to leave her penniless and on the streets if she dared to take his son away from him.

Astoria had quietly taken it all in but Harry had seen the look in her eyes. It had been the look of a broken woman with a bleeding heart barely still beating inside her chest. Standing by and watching her forced to listen to her husband’s spiteful drunken insults had caused Harry physical agony and he’d very nearly fired a series of stinging hexes at Draco.

By Merlin, he’d never wanted anything more in his life than to hurt the man, really hurt him, and for a split second, he’d even considered slicing him open just like he’d done in sixth year.

However, that thought had terrified him so much that he’d instantly banished it to the darkest corner of his mind and instead of seeking revenge, he’d forced himself to breathe deeply and remain calm.

When insulting Astoria hadn’t resulted in her changing her mind, Draco had pleaded with her, implored her to stay, begged on his knees even. He’d made all sorts of mad promises, vowing to stop drinking right this instant, even swearing it several times over. Astoria had, with a stony expression told him to prove it, then Apparated away on the spot.

Harry had stayed, securely hidden under his father’s Invisibility Cloak, wand in hand, and watched.

That afternoon Draco hadn’t touched a single drop of Firewhiskey but by early evening he’d started shaking and rapidly pacing his study while beads of sweat formed on his forehead and slowly trickled down his temples.

By midnight, he’d been on the ground in front of the elaborate fireplace, groaning in agony, shaking madly, and clutching at his stomach as it repeatedly convulsed and he’d eventually started vomiting up bile.

By three in the morning, Harry had watched as one of the house elves had forced half a bottle of Firewhiskey down Draco’s throat, lest he ended up killing himself after he’d suddenly, and without preparation, stopped drinking. His tremors had stopped almost immediately and refusing to let go of the bottle, even once it was empty, he’d remained on the floor, eventually falling asleep amidst all the mess he’d created himself.

As he’d watched him drift off, Harry had vowed to himself that he was going to do everything he possibly could to persuade Draco to stop drinking.

The first time he’d shown up on Draco’s doorstep, Draco had slammed the door right into his face or rather attempted to. He simply hadn’t been fast enough to counter Harry’s Seeker reflexes.

The second time Harry had visited, Draco had ignored him and every time Harry had walked into the room, he’d left it, promising to activate the Manor’s wards to have him magically removed from the grounds.

Had Draco been in full possession of his magical abilities, the threat might have terrified Harry but since he was unable to do magic, Harry had merely smiled and nodded politely.

The third time, Harry had come by the Manor, Draco had been so far gone that Harry had wondered, for the longest time, whether Draco had at all recognised him for who he was or thought him to be a hallucination. It had eventually become clear that Draco did know who he was but had clearly chosen not to make any scathing remarks in favour of pouring his heart out to Harry.

Harry still didn’t know why Draco had so freely shared his personal thoughts with him but clearly, Astoria leaving him and taking their son away from him had hit him hard and he needed someone to listen to him — or maybe he’d been too drunk to realise what he was saying.

Harry had very quickly learnt that Firewhiskey absolutely governed Draco’s life.

While he didn’t talk about it, he was never without it, and his mood depended entirely on how much he’d had to drink and even then, his temper was volatile at best.

“ _Why_ are you still here, Potter?”

Draco had turned away from the window and was now leaning back against the windowsill with his shoulder propped up against the wall beside him.

Harry uncrossed his arms and shrugged.

“I like your company,” he said.

Draco let out a hollow laugh.

“Is that why you turned down my offer to be friends twenty-one years ago, Potter?”

Harry rolled his eyes behind his glasses and uncrossing his legs, he smiled.

“Still not over that then?”

“No, you broke my heart.”

Harry frowned.

“I what?”

“You heard me, Potter, you broke my heart.”

“Malfoy. Don’t be ridiculous. We were eleven. You were a pompous arse.”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and glared at him.

“So were you!” he snapped.

Harry sighed.

He was pretty sure that there was no point in having this conversation.

Draco was blind drunk and made little sense.

Still, Harry couldn’t help but take the bait, though he was sure he was bound to regret it before the end of this conversation.

“Fine, I’ll bite. When exactly was I a pompous arse then, Draco?” he asked.

“After the trials. Drinks at the Leaky and then a handshake. A fucking handshake before you dropped me like a hot potato and walked away. First, you save my life, then you have us pardoned at the trials and finally, you make a half-arsed attempt at being friends before deciding I am, once again, not worthy of your time!”

Harry pressed his lips together and remained quiet.

He didn’t know what to say to that.

Even now, more than a decade later, he still couldn’t believe that Draco had accepted his invitation for them to have drinks at the Leaky Cauldron. Until this day he had yet to work out what had made him ask Draco out in the first place. It hadn’t been a date or anything; they’d simply sat in a dark corner for several hours, furtively sneaking glances at each other whenever they thought the other wasn’t looking.

From what Harry remembered, and he remembered that evening very well, they’d barely exchanged more than a handful of words while idly sipping on their Butterbeers. Harry had felt utterly embarrassed the whole evening and when he’d finally been unable to stand it any longer, he’d politely excused himself and left the pub though not without shaking Draco’s hand.

He still struggled to comprehend what had made him reach out to Draco back then but he supposed that after the war, he’d been so sick of conflict that he’d tried his best to build bridges.

“Why do you think I agreed to have a drink with you in the first place, Potter?” Draco asked.

He sounded menacing and the dark glower in his eyes was a little frightening.

The sigh, Harry had suppressed earlier, forced its way out into the open and getting to his feet, he walked over to the window and Draco.

“I don’t know, Draco. But I’m sorry. I didn’t handle that evening very well. It’s just— We were both only eighteen, barely nineteen, and I tried to talk to you but you didn’t seem inclined to have a conversation with me. In fact, you didn’t really seem to enjoy my company so I put us both out of our misery.”

Harry reached out and tried to squeeze Draco’s shoulder but he shrugged him off and laughed.

“Potter, you really are a daft idiot, aren’t you? Ever since our third year, I fucking fancied the pants off you. Apart from taunting you, I didn’t bloody know how to talk to you, you complete and utter moron. Hey Potter, I know my father is a Death Eater and Voldemort wants to kill you but are you by any chance into guys because I really want to fucking kiss you. Like that would have gone down well! Your adoring fans would have broken into the Slytherin dormitories and killed me in my sleep, or maybe you’d have done the deed yourself, who knows.”

Draco pushed away from the windowsill and returning to stand behind his desk, he reached for a bottle of Firewhiskey and unscrewing the lid, he didn’t bother to pour himself a glass but drank straight from the bottle, then slumped into his desk chair and let out a rather manic laugh.

“Bet you didn’t expect that, Potter, did you?” he mumbled.

Leaning against the windowsill, Harry took a deep breath and tried to somehow remain in control of his reeling thoughts. He was half-tempted to ask Draco for that bottle of Firewhiskey so that he could take a swig but firmly resisted the urge to use alcohol to help him process the bombshell Draco had just dropped on him.

He stared at the man across from him and wordlessly shook his head.

Draco had always been stunning, though, lately, perhaps not so much. His blond hair was long, much longer than it should be, and it hung limply around his face. He looked haggard, was too thin, unhealthily so, and the spark in his eyes had long gone. His body was a mere shell, one that had seemingly become too big to contain Draco, who, right now, looked more like a teenage boy than a grown man of thirty-two and the father of a six-year-old utterly adorable exact double of himself.

Harry briefly closed his eyes and recalled an image of a younger, happier, and healthier Draco.

He instantly remembered a tall and lean young man with pale skin and beautiful grey eyes. Someone who made every effort to keep his back straight and his shoulders aligned.

Someone who cared about his appearance, the way he looked, and the way he spoke.

Harry tried to think back to the last time he’d seen Draco laugh, unrestrained and unforced, but all he could call to mind was how infatuated he’d been with how much something as simple as a laugh softened Draco’s expression.

Back at Hogwarts, Draco had perpetually sneered at him and if he hadn’t done that, he’d taunted him, quite mercilessly so, about everything and anything. The one or other time, he’d of course tried to hex, jinx, or curse him but despite the silliness of it all, Harry couldn’t help but look back at those memories with some fondness. There were moments he didn’t want to remember but mostly he’d rather revelled in his manic obsession with Draco.

Harry huffed out a breath of air and opened his eyes again.

Draco had closed his and appeared to have fallen asleep with the bottle of Firewhiskey firmly wedged between his legs and his fingers loosely wrapped around the bottleneck.

Pressing the palms of his hands to his face, Harry muffled a sigh, then combed his fingers through his unruly black hair.

“Fuck, Draco, what have you done?”

He whispered the words into Draco’s study and shook his head.

Hesitant to believe Draco’s drunken confession of once having had a mad crush on him but unwilling to dismiss it as complete codswallop, he simply stood there and watched Draco sleep.

He ran his fingers through his hair again and inhaled deeply, held his breath for several seconds, then exhaled slowly.

He’d come by the Manor today with the intention of making one last attempt at persuading Draco to check himself into a rehab facility and get clean but that conversation was out of the question now.

Besides Draco had already, and more than once vehemently rejected the offer of help.

According to him, there was no point to it and apparently, it simply didn’t matter that Harry had tried to change his mind.

_If not for yourself, then at least do it for your son._

With that suggestion, he’d come very close to tempting Draco into relenting but in the end, he’d chickened out and refused.

Harry could tell that a large part of Draco wanted to get sober, wanted to give up drinking for good but the whole withdrawal process clearly terrified him.

To be quite honest, the idea of having to watch Draco having to go through that terrified Harry too. He’d seen what Draco was like when he tried not to drink for several hours and he could only imagine what going stone-cold sober, even under the expert care of trained doctors and nurses, would be like for Draco.

It would be an ordeal.

Absolute and painful horror.

First, there would be the shakes and tremors, then agitation and anxiety, perhaps even headaches, then finally nausea and vomiting.

After that, disorientation would kick in and with it the seizures.

Draco would be in pain, a whole lot of pain, as his body fought against itself.

Sleeping would be impossible and insomnia would lead to all sorts of hallucinations — tactile, auditory, and visual.

He’d start to run a fever and sweat excessively and if worst came to worst, and the doctors at the clinic had told Harry to expect that, there would be Delirium Tremens — the most severe and most deadly form of ethanol withdrawal. It would manifest in agitation, global confusion, disorientation, hallucinations, fever, hypertension, diaphoresis, and autonomic hyperactivity hitting Draco all at once.

Harry closed his eyes, rubbed his face and tilting his head back, he bit his bottom lip, hard, wincing as he drew blood and tasted copper and iron on his tongue.

“Mum, Dad, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Severus, Fred, Dumbledore, if any of you are listening, please don’t let him die, please. Don’t do it for me, do it for his son. Do it for Scorpius, that boy needs a father.”

Harry whispered his desperate plea and squeezed his eyes tightly shut but the salty tears burned his eyelids and forced him to open his eyes again.

He resolutely wiped his tears away and releasing his wand from its holster, which he kept fastened to his right forearm, he gripped it tightly in his hand, channelled his magic and focused.

“I’m sorry, Draco, I really am. An unforgivable would be kinder than what I’m about to do to you.”

Taking a step closer to Draco, Harry pointed his wand at him and conjured a set of thick beige ropes. They flew through the air, slithered around Draco’s wrists, and bound them tightly, then sealed with magic.

“Maybe you’ll thank me one day.”

Sheathing his wand, Harry gripped Draco’s shoulders and pushed him into his chair, holding him down.

He’d woken up and immediately struggled against his bonds and Harry’s iron grip. The bottle of Firewhiskey slipped to the floor and he let out an anguished shriek.

“Potter! What the bloody fuck! Release me, Potter!”

Harry shook his head, dripped Draco’s shoulders harder and closing his eyes, he focused on his desired destination and side-along apparated Draco straight out of the Manor.

* * *

 


	5. Ten Days Sober

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small part of this scene was one of the first ideas I had for this story and I kind of ended up building everything else around that.
> 
> While this is still a rather dark scene, you will, I think, be pleased to find that there's perhaps a small light at the end of the tunnel.
> 
> I have one more chapter planned and I've already got it planned out in my head but I am presently toying with the idea of adding more to this work. It's turning out to be an intriguing story and I've quite a soft spot for these characters. Despite their faults, or maybe because of their faults, they've grown on me and while this has most certainly been a challenge, it's now getting easier to write the characters. That's what happens when you slowly get into your characters heads and start to get to know them.
> 
> I know this isn't exactly that happiest story in the universe and if I'll keep it at six chapters then it won't end with sappy declarations of love but I'm most definitely planning to end it on a positive note. If I add more chapters there may be a little bit of romance and love (and perhaps even hot smut because I can never quite resist the draw of that particular writing pleasure) but like I said, I'm not sure. Opinions?
> 
> Love,  
> Selly x

* * *

Harry stood outside the private room in the rehab facility’s corridor, quietly looking through the one-way glass window at Draco’s sleeping form — the doctors at the clinic and truly performed a small (and entirely magic-free) miracle here. He clasped and twisted his hands together and forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply to keep his own agitation at bay.

Harry had never been a pretentious person. Bragging wasn’t in his nature, not even when the papers sang his praises and continued to paint him as the Wizarding World’s Golden Boy. In his mind, arresting a criminal and getting them off the streets to protect everyone from harm was his job; the papers considered it to be the divine act of a hero. Harry had long since stopped trying to change their minds; it was futile and he could think of better things to do with his time, like make sure that his children got to see their dad as much as possible and finding new ways to make them laugh until their sides hurt and fall asleep with all their limbs sprawled out all over him while he tried (and usually failed) to hug all three of them at the same time.

Despite his down-to-earth approach to life and his refusal to allow his fame to turn him into someone he was not, the last ten days had taught Harry the true meaning of humility. They’d also taught him what it really meant to be powerless and while he’d often found himself clutching his wand and praying for a spell or a potion to make everything better all at once, he’d learnt that magic could only do so much.

Upon their arrival at the detox centre, Draco had fought tooth and nail but within twelve hours of getting there, and given the severity and length of his addiction, he’d started to suffer from acute withdrawal symptoms. The doctors and nurses at the clinic had done everything humanly possible to improve the situation for Draco — they’d plied him with anti-anxiety and anti-seizure drugs and had even given him beta blockers to slow his heart rate, reduce his tremors and help with his craving for alcohol.

Things had started simply enough but within a few hours, Draco’s ordeal had become mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausting. Not just but especially for him.

The mood swings had kicked in first. He’d repeatedly threatened to murder Harry, had promised to hunt him down, even if it meant apparating to the ends of the earth and then spending the rest of his life rotting away in Azkaban. While there’d been nothing in the room Draco could have used to throw at his head, he had most definitely attempted to resolve to physical violence. Thankfully, his movements had been uncoordinated and he hadn’t landed a single blow. The doctors had offered to restrain and sedate him but Harry had told them not to, not yet anyway. Instead, he’d allowed Draco to exhaust himself. He hadn’t made much sense anyway and so Harry had simply let him have a go at having an epic rant.

Once Draco had depleted the energy resources required to sustain his mood swings, his hands had started to shake. The tremors had steadily increased in strength and along with those he’d started to sweat profusely and complained of terrible skull-splitting headaches. Those had brought on the stomach troubles and nausea and once the vomiting had kicked in, Draco had curled himself into a pitiful little ball on the ground. Unable to make it to the bathroom, he’d desperately clutched at a plastic bucket and repeatedly and violently retched into it.

All Harry had been able to do was to sit beside him and make sure that he didn’t get any vomit in his hair. The prolonged throwing up had left Draco weak, dehydrated, and foggy-minded. He’d fallen into a restless slumber and when he’d started to run a bit of a fever, Harry had cooled his forehead with a wet towel and the nurses had stripped him naked and given him more appropriate clothing.

In the early hours of the morning, Draco had woken up thinking Harry was Lucius and shouted at him, calling him a complete failure, a monster, and a perverse abomination of humanity. Draco’s colourful insults had rather improved Harry’s mood but it had also meant that nobody had been able to convince Draco to have a bit of food. He’d pointedly flung it across the room, leaving an elderly nurse to clean up the mess.

When the doctor had checked on him later, Draco’s hallucinations had lessened, although he kept talking to himself and hearing voices. Occasionally, he saw things and people that did not exist and the stress of that had brought on further mental confusion and he’d been highly irritable. The medical team had started him on a horrifying cocktail of drugs, half of which Harry had no idea how to pronounce, and by late afternoon the withdrawal seizures had kicked in. At first, they’d come and gone but then the tonic-clonic seizures had started and it had taken Harry everything last bit of self-control not to burst into tears as he’d watched the doctors sedate and restrain Draco to prevent him from hitting his head, biting his own tongue or somehow breaking a bone or two.

Harry had walked away then, just for a while. He’d left the building and stood outside in the quiet garden and hidden away under a very old oak tree, he’d tried his hardest to breathe deeply. The tears had fallen anyway and he’d given into his own exhaustion and sitting with his back up against the tree trunk, he’d hugged his knees to his chest and silently cried himself into a fitful half-hour nap that had left him feeling even more tired than before.

When he’d returned to check on Draco, the nurses had shooed him away but it had taken Ginny’s arrival to break his stubborn resolve to remain at Draco’s side. She’d gone for the tough-love-act and completely ignoring his frivolous attempts to get her to leave him be, she’d dragged him to his temporary accommodation, forced him to get a shower, eat a proper meal, down several potions, and sleep, sleep, sleep.

The next day, he’d spent as much time as possible with Draco and although he was more than half-delirious for most of the time, Harry kept talking to him. He told him stories about his job, told him about his children, described the garden outside and praised him for having fathered Scorpius, calling him an extraordinary boy full of light and love. In the early evening, he’d left the rehab centre to have dinner with Lily, James, and Al and because it was Friday and neither Al nor James had school the next day, he’d taken them to an ordinary Muggle cinema to watch an animated film.

Lily had crawled into his lap halfway through the film and fallen asleep there and James and Al had been two very tired little boys by the time they’d all returned home. Upon handing their children back to Ginny, he’d gratefully accepted her offer to have tea and after a lengthy chat, he’d fallen asleep on the sofa.

The next morning, he’d arrived at the clinic to find Draco still mostly out of it. He had brief moments of lucidity but was still going through acute withdrawal and as such the medical team found it safer to keep him sedated and plied him with several drugs that made the whole process that little bit easier for him — the medication could only do so much but the little power it had, did Draco the world of good.

Things had only started looking up around day six when Draco had slowly come out of his haze and while the shaking and the tremors hadn’t stopped, his seizures had. Unfortunately, he’d been unable to sleep and had instead taken to restlessly twisting and turning on the bed. He’d tried getting up a few times but his legs had been shaky and weak and eventually, he’d given up on trying.

The depression had kicked in shortly after and he’d refused food but had at the very least been willing to drink enough water to remain sufficiently hydrated. He’d refused to communicate and every time Harry had tried talking to him, he’d turned his back on him, resolutely ignoring completely. He’d suffered from the one or other occasional seizure but compared to what he’d gone through at the beginning, they were mild and didn’t require restraints, only a little help from the nurses and, of course, medication.

Draco stirred slowly, sluggishly and the movement pulled Harry out of his reverie. He stopped clasping and twisting his hands and pushing them into the pockets of his washed-out blue jeans, he moved towards the door and gently pushed the handle down. He stepped into Draco’s private room, although it really didn’t provide any sort of privacy — not even the bathroom, while separate from the room, had a door. A white plastic curtain offered a little bit of seclusion but that was about it. There was a curtain in front of the one-way glass window but one could only draw it closed from the corridor and the door to Draco’s hospital room did not open from the inside. Well, Harry could open it since he had the combination for the electronic lock and there was, of course, always magic, but half the time, he left it up to the nurses to let him out of Draco’s room.

The door closed behind him with a quiet click and Harry casually leant back against it.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Draco sluggishly turned and looked at him with an expression that lacked both energy and enthusiasm. He slowly sat up, leant back against the headboard of his hospital bed, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You are the bane of my existence, Potter. Do us both a favour and just disappear from my life, won’t you?”

Harry pressed his lips together and remained silent.

“I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for your help nor did I want it and I certainly didn’t ask you to lock me up in his forsaken place and keep me a prisoner while you watch me slowly wither away.”

 _No, but your wife and son did_ , Harry thought and even though the words were on the tip of his tongue, he kept them to himself.

“Did you sleep OK?” he asked.

Draco scoffed.

“What’s it to you, Potter? What the fuck do you care?”

“I care,” Harry said but refrained from asking again.

Draco’s hollow laugh filled the room. It lingered briefly, then dispersed.

“Keep telling yourself that, Potter. Tell me, do you think it’ll make lowering my body into the ground easier?”

Harry inhaled through his nose, filled his lungs to the brim with air and exhaled slowly through his mouth. He wasn’t in need of that much oxygen but the action kept his simmering annoyance from bubbling over into full-fledged anger.

“You’re not going to die, Draco,” he said, trying his hardest to keep his voice soft and gentle.

Another hollow laugh. A dark glower. A scathing remark followed suit.

“Yes, keep telling yourself that too, Potter. Don’t worry, you’ve nearly succeeded. You’ve already put me through hell, I’ll make this easy on you and go without a fight.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Stop being so melodramatic, Draco. You were killing yourself and going through withdrawal nearly put the last nail into the coffin. The medical team here did everything to prevent that from happening.”

Draco fixed him with a withering icy death glare.

Harry wanted to shudder but suppressed the urge.

“I wish they hadn’t.”

Harry inhaled sharply.

“Draco—”

He started but trailed off and pushing away from the door, he pulled his hands out of his jeans pockets and took a few steps closer to Draco’s bed.

“Stop saying that, Draco. If you keep making those suicidal remarks, they’ll keep you in here indefinitely.”

“Might be for the better.”

“Draco, for Merlin’s sake—”

“What Potter? What else is it you want? You’ve taken everything, at least let me die with some fucking dignity!”

Draco’s voice suddenly rose and boomed through the hospital room. He threw his bed covers back and abruptly rose to his feet, then took two steps towards Harry.

“My wife left me, Potter. She took my son away from me. You’ve now got control over the estate and me. I’ve lost my magic. Give me one fucking reason I should be sober. Just one fucking reason, Potter. Can you do that? You fucking Gryffindors, always jumping head first into the problem without considering the outcome. I didn’t fucking ask for your help, I didn’t ask you for anything ever, I—”

“You asked for my friendship once,” Harry said, quietly interrupting Draco’s flow.

Draco laughed and Harry instantly decided that he hated that hollow, meaningless, scathing laugh with a passion. It made his head hurt and his chest burn with the desire to knock some sense into Draco.

“And we all know how that ended. Even back then you wanted nothing to do with me, so why now, Potter? Why the fuck now? Do us both a favour and take your fucking hero complex elsewhere. I don’t want your charity, Potter!”

The way Draco spat his last name and the utter contempt in his eyes and voice hurt. It felt like a physical stab to the chest and for a moment Harry was at a loss for words. Part of him wanted to shout at Draco, wanted to tell him to stop being such a complete prat, but a larger part of him thankfully managed to control his temper and instead of losing it and spitting an array of colourful insults and expletives at Draco, he kept calm and quiet.

“Draco—”

“Shut the fuck up, Scarhead, and get out of my fucking face. Go fix somebody else. I won’t be the one to indulge your hero complex.”

Harry swallowed hard.

For a moment he felt tempted to release his wand from its holster and point it at Draco but when the door opened, that idea disappeared into thin air before it had fully formed or he had the chance to execute it.

“Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter. Is everything all right in here?”

A middle-aged nurse in lilac scrubs stood in the door. She had a mild frown on her face and worriedly looked back and forth between them both.

In response to her concern, Draco told her to _fuck the hell off_ and crossing his arms over his chest, he turned his back on her.

Harry pressed his lips together, and chagrined, he apologised.

She shook her head and shrugged.

“I’ve heard worse,” the nurse said quietly and withdrawing, she closed the door, though not without telling him to buzz for help if he thought he needed it.

Harry nodded and when the door closed again, he approached Draco and gently placed his hand on his shoulder.

Draco immediately swatted it away and turning on him, he glowered at him.

“Fuck off, Potter, seriously. Fuck. The. Hell. Off! Go be the hero Auror, go make the front page of the Prophet, go live your perfect life with your perfect wife and your perfect children. Leave me the fuck alone.”

Harry sighed and decided to put his cards on the table.

“Draco, your wife and son are staying in my flat here in London, they haven’t—”

Draco, who’d turned his back on him again, whirled around and grabbed two fistfuls of his plain white t-shirt, shaking him hard or as hard as he could muster considering what he had gone through in the last ten days. He pushed him backwards and forced him up against the wall. Harry knew that he could easily throw Draco off but he refrained from fighting back. Instead, he gave Draco the opportunity to let all his anger out. Somehow, or so he thought, Draco needed to let off some steam before he would even consider to entertain any rational thought or willingly sit down to have a proper conversation with him.

“For the love of Salazar Slytherin, Potter, I will kill you. I will fucking kill you. I will wrap my fingers around your neck and squeeze the life out of you, you ineffably foul stinking repulsive piece of shit!”

Harry tried but he couldn’t stop the chuckle that bubbled up his throat and forced itself past his slightly parted lips.

“There you are, Draco, I knew you were in there somewhere, although I must admit, your insults used to have more of an edge, you used to have more style.”

Draco’s flat hand connected with his cheek and the sting of the unexpected blow burned through his skin and deep into his flesh. He winced, brought his hand up and rubbed his sore and (likely also) very red cheek.

“Hm, a bit unexpected, I’d have thought you’d go for the nose again,” he said.

Draco growled, grabbed his t-shirt, and thrust him back up against the wall. He brought his face within inches of Harry’s and hissed angrily.

“Get the fuck out of my face, Potter, before I fucking ruin you. I’ll happily go to Azkaban for the murder of one Harry Potter.”

“Or so you keep saying.”

Harry knew he was goading Draco, was practically begging him to do more than roughly shove him up against a wall and slap him across the face but for some stupid reason, he stubbornly refused to believe that Draco would actually make good on any of his promises to commit a felony crime punishable by a Dementor’s Kiss.

Draco glowered at him, snarled, shoved him, then let go and turned his back on him.

“Draco, listen to—”

“Fuck off, Potter!”

“No.”

Harry obstinately crossed his arms over his chest, pushed away from the wall and walking around Draco, he stood in front of him and straightened his back. It didn’t really matter. There was not an inch of height difference between them. He was just as tall as Draco.

Holding Draco’s gaze, he resolutely stared him down, practically daring him to tell him to fuck off again. Draco ground his teeth together and huffed angrily.

“I’m not going to fuck off, Draco, and no matter how many times you’re going to tell me to get out, I will not do it. I’m not doing this because I have a hero complex, or maybe I am, what the fuck does it matter. But one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty is that I’m not doing this because I pity your wife and son or because I pity you. I’m doing this because you want it, you just need a bit of help and support to get there. You want this, Draco—”

Harry paused and poked Draco in the chest.

“You want this. You want to be sober, Draco. You don’t want to drink yourself into oblivion any more than you want to die. You want to be the best father you could possibly be for your son and you want to see him grow up and do all the things your father never did. You want to be a role model for your son, an example to live by. For Godric’s sake, Draco, do this for your son. Your boy, he needs you. He needs a loving father, not a drunkard. You’ve come this far, Draco, ten days sober. They’ve been the worst days of your life, I concede to that, but fuck, Draco, you’re ten days sober, ten fucking days. That’s nearly half a month. You can fucking do this and I promise you, whether you want it or not I’ll be right here to hold your hand through everything and right up until you’re ready to walk out that door and take your life into your own hands again. And after that, after you walk out of here, I’ll still be there, whether you fucking want me to or not. Draco, for the love of Merlin, we survived a fucking war. We grew up seeing dead bodies and every day we lived with the fear that it might be our last. We came out of it alive. If you can do that, if you can live through a war, you can fucking get through this bloody detox programme and learn to stay sober!”

Realising that he’d been ranting and that he’d given into his emotions, after all, Harry fell quiet and lowering his hands, which he’d used to wildly gesticulate around while he’d passionately chewed Draco’s ear off, he shoved them both into the deep pockets of his favourite pair of jeans.

“I’m s—”

Draco cut him off before he could get his apology out into the open.

“Scorpius. Is he all right?” he asked, his voice quiet and subdued.

A flicker of sadness appeared in his silvery-grey eyes and unable to resist, Harry drew his left hand out of his jeans pocket and placed it on Draco’s shoulder, squeezing softly.

“Your son’s fine, Draco. He’s attending school as he should and Astoria tells me that he misses you terribly. He’s drawing pictures of you every single night.”

Tears welled up in Draco’s eyes and Harry watched as he swallowed hard and blinked a few times in a desperate attempt to contain himself and keep some sense of decorum about himself after he’d spent the last half hour spectacularly yelling bloody murder for everyone to hear.

“I can’t do this,” he mumbled and feebly showed Harry his hands. They were shaking badly.

Harry wordlessly took them, squeezed them firmly and held on tight.

“Draco Malfoy, you _can_ and you _will_.”

Draco sighed.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I have a hero complex and I want to continue to be the Wizarding World’s Golden Boy. I want all the accolades and I want to die knowing I made your life as miserable as I possibly could.”

Draco snorted.

“I fucking hate you, Potter.”

 _Ten days ago, you told me something else_ , Harry thought but kept his mouth firmly shut about Draco’s drunken confession. Now, was neither the time nor the place to bring that up.

“And we wouldn’t want that any other way, Malfoy,” he said instead.

A weak smile appeared on Draco’s face but it only lingered for a second before it disappeared again. Harry squeezed Draco’s hands tightly and wordlessly pulled him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around Draco, pulled him flush against his body and very nearly squeezed the life out of him.

At first, Draco put up a little bit of resistance but eventually, he relaxed into the embrace and when it became apparent to him that Harry wasn’t about to let go any time soon, he grudgingly reciprocated the hug by wrapping his own arms around Harry’s waist and lacing his fingers together behind his back.

Harry felt him inhale deeply, felt him bury his face against the side of his neck and rubbing his back gently, he closed his eyes and said absolutely nothing when the hot sting of Draco’s silent tears wetted his skin.

He let Draco have his moment and when he finally, and after many, many minutes, pulled away, Harry cupped his tear-stained cheeks, brushed his thumbs over them and smiled.

“I’ll see you through this, I promise. You can count on me. I will not turn my back on you, I swear. You’re going to walk out of this place sober and you’re going to stay sober.”

Draco sniffed and pulling away, he used the sleeves of his hospital-issued pyjamas to dry his red-rimmed eyes.

“Thank you, Potter,” he whispered.

Harry smiled.

“You’re welcome. Next time you want to bite my head off, could you do us both a favour and make the insults a little more colourful? It’ll make for a more entertaining verbal sparring match.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“As if you’d ever stand a chance, Potter.”

Harry laughed.

“I don’t but I do enjoy it when you make an effort.”

Draco scoffed and slowly heading over to the bed, he sat down on the edge and twisted his hands into the bed covers.

“Could I by any chance have something else to wear? I hate these clothes.”

Harry smiled.

“I’ll see what I can do. I should be able to find you some ridiculously overpriced silky-smooth men’s nightwear you can flaunt around the place.”

“Flaunt where? They won’t let me out of this room.”

“They will eventually, give it time.”

Draco nodded mutely, then shuffled into a horizontal position and curled into a tiny ball of misery.

“I’ll give you a bit of space,” Harry offered but when he’d reached the door and was about to use magic to unlock it, Draco called out to him.

He turned around and looking at Draco, he raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t go?”

“I thought you wanted me to fuck off,” he teased.

Draco scowled at him.

“Don’t make me say _please_ ,” he said, his posh drawl curt and sharp.

“I won’t.”

Smiling, Harry left the door closed and walking up to Draco’s bed, he perched himself on the edge of it.

“What’s your favourite food?” he asked.

Draco frowned at him. He clearly hadn’t expected that sort of question but answered anyway.

“Vanilla Bean and Raspberry Tart, I’ve not had it in years.”

“Sounds delicious. Do you want some?”

“I’d fucking die for some sugar.”

Harry grinned broadly.

“I’ll organise you some.”

Draco’s eyes twinkled a little and reaching out, Harry squeezed his shoulder, then pulled the duvet over and around Draco’s skinny frame, tucking him in.

“Thanks, Daddy,” Draco mocked.

Harry chuckled.

“Want a kiss to your forehead?” he teased.

Draco glowered at him.

“Try it and I’ll have your balls, Potter,” he said.

Harry winced.

“No, thanks.”

* * *

 


	6. Childlike Innocence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after a quick vote, I have been informed that six chapters aren't enough to cover this topic and that several of you are interested in reading more about Draco's recovery as well as witnessing a truly slow-burning romance between Harry and Draco. This I can absolutely do. It also so happens that my mind is ripe with ideas for this story and I've plenty of thoughts on where to take this, so I will continue to add a few more chapters to this beautiful tale of darkness, recovery, friendship, love and a chance at a new beginning.
> 
> I hope you'll continue to stick with me and the boys as we continue to dive into their lives and see what'll happen now that Draco is trying his hardest to stay sober, however, please keep in mind that I will not make this easy on the man. He's been through hell and back, that is true, but if he truly wants to stay sober, he'll have to prove to me that he's genuine about it.
> 
> Love,  
> Selly

 

* * *

Draco walked over to the broad wooden bench beneath the giant old oak tree in the centre of the clinic’s garden and sat down. He inhaled deeply, relishing in the fresh air. It had rained for most of the night and as such the grass beneath his feet was still somewhat damp. It smelled luscious, as did the wet bark of the oak tree and its leaves. The scent of nature filled Draco with calm, and he relaxed a little more.

Over the last three months, the bench, perfectly shaded from the early afternoon sunshine, had become his favourite spot and he’d boldly claimed it for himself. The clinic had a large private park attached to it that offered even better corners for a bit of privacy, but Draco usually found himself spending several hours a day just sitting in the shade under that old oak tree, reading or staring into space and letting his thoughts wander but not settle.

There were always birds high up in the branches, twittering away and occasionally, and if one waited patiently enough, one could even spot a squirrel couple chasing each other up and down the branches. Their antics always made Draco smile and even though he knew that the thought was ridiculous, he couldn’t help but think of Harry whenever he spotted the two cheeky squirrels.

Ever since he’d first set his eyes on Harry a little over twenty years ago, he hadn’t been able to get him out of his head, and he still couldn’t make up his mind whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. He had his moments, but these days, Draco was sure having Harry in his life was a good thing. Taunting Harry had always been his favourite pastime, at least while they’d been at Hogwarts together.

After the war, when he’d tried and failed to become the person everyone around him expected him to be, and as he’d gradually lost his sense of direction on his downward spiral into his alcohol addition, getting a rise out of Harry had been the very last thing on his mind.

Lately, though, Draco was, once again, discovering the thrill of Harry Potter being on the receiving end of his scathing sarcasm and while Harry had always been extraordinarily sassy and gave back as good as he took, over the last decade, he’d certainly learnt a thing or two. He was confident, funny, caring, and exerted just the right amount of dominance to stimulate and entertain.

Draco smiled to himself and nervously fiddled with the bangle bracelet, he’d made in his arts and crafts therapy class last week and finished off the day before yesterday. It was a sterling silver wire which he’d hand-hammered and tumbled for shine and strength. To it, he’d attached a stainless-steel rectangle, which held the two ends of the steel wire together, that measured a little over an inch across, and after several failed attempts, he’d finally managed to engrave the words “ _our story isn’t over yet, son”_ into the metal.

A small charm with a richly green Tsavorite Garnet dangled from the engraved rectangle. The gemstone was Scorpius’ birthstone, he’d been born in January, and while Draco had wanted to use a pure emerald, he’d, after a long conversation with both his therapist and Harry, eventually conceded that it wasn’t the price tag of the precious stone that mattered but the meaning behind it. Scorpius’ birthstone, the Garnet, represented friendship and trust and that was precisely the kind of relationship he wanted to build with his son.

Stopping himself from continuing to toy with the little gift, he’d made for Scorpius, Draco placed it back inside the small cardboard box. He’d glued it together himself and then painted it black. After the paint had dried, he’d used sparkly dark-green paper to fold a flower bow or well, he’d tried to fold one. It had taken him an entire afternoon of repeatedly failed attempts to get it done and by the time Harry had stopped by with some Vanilla Bean and Raspberry Tart, he’d been seconds away from losing his mind and condemning the entire handicrafts project as a useless waste of his time.

Harry poking his head through the door had been a genuinely welcome distraction, and while he’d tried his best to hide his shaking hands from Harry, he hadn’t been very successful at keeping that secret. He hadn’t said anything, it wasn’t in his nature to be that open with Harry, even though he often wanted to, but he’d been grateful when Harry had quietly placed his hand on top of his own and squeezed it gently, wordlessly steadying him and providing him with a solid presence to lean against.

He hadn’t felt quite so out of sorts then, and after indulging in the sweet treat, Harry had brought along with him, he’d even felt centred enough to have a go at deliberately teasing Harry.

Of course, Harry hadn’t shown him any mercy, and although Draco had tried his best to appear outraged, secretly, he’d been thoroughly pleased to know that Harry thought of them as equals and treated him as such.

They’d eventually completed the flower bow together and while it had still taken them several tries to get it right; it had been a pleasant and relaxing way to pass the evening.

Though Harry always made sure to never bring his work troubles into the clinic with him, Draco could tell that he was under a considerable amount of stress, yet he still somehow managed to separate his professional life from his personal one and firmly made a point not to let one interfere with the other. He wasn’t always entirely successful, but for the most part, he fought to keep a balance between the two. He did share the occasional anecdote or two, but they mostly talked about banal things; books they’d both read, education, children, all the different types of creative projects the centre offered, etc.

Harry avoided the topic of magic like the plague and while Draco knew that his magical core was slowly recovering, he didn’t need a St. Mungo’s healer to tell him that it was still severely damaged and that it would be months before he’d be able to use his wand to cast even the simplest of spells.

For now, Draco had no craving to perform any sort of magic or attempt to brew potions. Instead, he continued to remain preoccupied with his recovery and with the fact that Harry stubbornly insisted on acting as his unofficial sponsor and seeing him through the entire recovery process, even if it took years. With Harry at his side, Draco found it easy to find the determination to give staying sober his very best shot. He still took things day by day, marking his progress in a calendar, he’d put up in his room, and in a thick, leather-bound journal, he wrote in every night before bed and mostly the idea of giving up didn’t occur to him.

Of course, there were good and bad days. Some mornings, getting out of bed and facing a new day was smooth, and he braved every single challenge, therapy threw at him, welcomed it even and cherished the distraction it all brought.

Other days, sitting up in bed was a chore that took him an hour to complete. Showering, getting dressed and making his way down the long corridor to the canteen to have coffee and breakfast seemed just as impossible but no matter how bad his days got, the staff refused to allow him to eat in his room, secluded and hidden away from everyone else.

Still, once he’d managed all that, he was usually so exhausted that every fibre of him craved a drink. Just one tumbler of Firewhiskey to take the edge off and to calm his nerves.

Those times, the tremors were the worst.

Sometimes, his entire body shook, and his teeth clattered, and it felt as though winter had come early, and he’d forgotten to put his coat on.

Sometimes, his knees felt so weak that he could barely stomach the idea of walking back to his room or making it outside for some fresh air. The thought alone was daunting enough, and he usually stayed behind until he was the last person still sat in the canteen.

Sometimes, it was just his hands. They usually shook so severely that he was unable to eat without making a royal mess or drink his coffee without spilling at least half of it over his food and his clothes.

The bad days, they annoyed Draco the most. He didn’t know how to handle him. His temper usually got the better of him, and he often found himself snapping at everyone around him, Harry included. While the nurses and doctors and every other person that worked at the centre knew how to handle him, and generally gave him space to work things out, Harry was the only one who pig-headedly pushed him to remain healthy and did not retreat, not even when Draco threatened to throw things at him. Harry’s response to that idle threat was always the same: _Bring it on, Malfoy, let’s see what you got_.

Harry, to lessen the strain of a bad day, had thoughtfully procured a reusable plastic cup with a lid, and patiently helped with food. Although Draco truly hated it when Harry fed him, he didn’t have much of a choice.

Going hungry wasn’t an option.

Even a single missed meal prolonged his sour mood and made it even more difficult to not think about having a drink. His body needed the distraction that came with digestion. It made his brain somewhat sluggish, especially around lunchtime, and all it took then was a trashy romance novel to draw him away from thinking about his addiction and his nearly unquenchable craving to have a stiff drink.

He never begged for it, never asked for alcohol, but the desire to taste it still didn’t go away. It always lingered in the back of his mind, and if Draco was completely honest, he was having a hard time trying to adjust to the fact that he’d have to deal with those feelings for the rest of his life.

He fervently hoped that the recovery programme would teach him the necessary skills to manage his addiction but the mere idea of being in the presence of alcohol, terrified him. Deep down, Draco knew that if anyone offered him a drink, he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation. He also knew that one sip was all it would take to send him straight back to the hell he’d only just crawled out of.

Sometimes, the fear was so all-consuming that he found himself cowering in the corner of his room with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms tightly wrapped around them.

On one such occasion, Harry had found him like this, and instead of coaxing him out of the corner, or even forcing him to stop being silly, he’d sat down on the hard floor in front of him and told him about his day.

Some two hours later, Draco had managed to summon enough willpower to relax his limbs, and while Harry had praised him for that, he hadn’t acknowledged his phobia in any other way and grabbed a book filled with riddles instead. Trying to work those out had sufficiently distracted Draco, and eventually, they’d headed out into the clinic’s beautiful park to stroll around the lake and feed the ducks. Draco still didn’t know why Harry carried dry bread around with him, but he’d resolved not to question that oddity of Harry’s.

Some mysteries weren’t meant to have a solution. They just existed as a distraction.

Pulling himself out of his reverie, Draco shuffled into a more comfortable position on the bench and uncrossing his legs, he stretched them out and leant back against the wooden backrest. He glanced at the gift box, he’d made for Scorpius, and out of the corner of his eye, he caught the movement of the door to the garden as it opened and closed and two people — one tall with dark unruly hair and glasses and one rather short with shimmering platinum-blond hair — stepped through. They were holding hands, and the little blond boy had an endearing spring in his step.

Draco inhaled sharply and wringing his hands together, he tried his best to stop them from shaking, but when it became apparent to him that he couldn’t entirely control the tremors, he placed the gift box down on the bench beside him and rose to his feet instead. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his washed-out light-blue Muggle jeans and clenched them into tight fists, digging his short nails into his palms.

The light pain was a welcome distraction, as was the reminder that he was wearing a pair of Muggle jeans of all things. It had been Harry’s idea and while he still thought they looked ridiculous; Draco couldn’t entirely deny their lure.

The jean trousers fitted him like a glove and sat perfectly on his hips, even without the aid of a leather belt.

In the last few weeks, he’d gained several pounds, and although Draco loathed to admit it, the jeans gave his slender frame and his long legs shape. They also gave him a rather youthful look. In front of Harry, he, of course, continued to vehemently deny his growing fondness of wearing ordinary Muggle jeans but boldly kept wearing them any chance he got.

When Harry had suggested that he wear t-shirts, he’d, however, drawn a line and insisted on formal button-up shirts. In return, Harry used every opportunity to give him stick, but Draco relished in the chance to retaliate with a healthy dose of Malfoyesque sass and in his opinion, it levelled the playing field perfectly.

Harry and Scorpius continued to approach, and with every step they took, Draco’s nerves increased tenfold. He’d spent nearly a month pleading with Harry to bring Scorpius to the clinic to see him, and while Harry had initially denied him his request, it hadn’t been out of spite but because he’d wanted to give him a chance to get a little stronger. Despite his frustration over Harry’s lack of cooperation, Draco had been quick to see that Harry hadn’t told him ” _no_ ” to anger him and keep him from seeing his son. He had done it not only to aid his recovery but also to ensure that Scorpius, who was still only six years old, could remain a carefree child and didn’t end up terrified when he saw him again.

Over the last few weeks, Draco had made a point to write to his son almost daily, and Harry took all his letters home with him to read them to Scorpius. In response, he also helped Scorpius write an answer and the strange mixture of Scorpius’ large letters, carefully drawn with different colour pencils, and Harry’s scrawny and sometimes nearly illegible handwriting, amused Draco immensely and he often found himself rereading the notes, especially when he felt subdued at the end of an exhausting day.

When Scorpius and Harry had made it about halfway across the garden, Scorpius wriggled his hand out of Harry’s loose grasp and broke into a run. For a second, Draco felt the overwhelming desire to turn and run, then he glanced at Harry and feeling his heart rate slow, he without giving the gesture a second thought, crouched down and spread his arms wide open. Scorpius ran a little faster, and a second later, Draco found himself wrapping his arms around his little boy. He kneeled in the damp grass, and although he was mildly aware of the fact that the remnants of last night’s rain were seeping through his jeans, soaking the fabric, Draco couldn’t bring himself to stand up.

Instead, he hugged Scorpius as tightly as he possibly could, squeezed him thoroughly and pressed him against his chest. He buried his face in Scorpius soft blond hair, closed his eyes and inhaling deeply, Draco let the intoxicating scent of vanilla and childlike innocence consume him. Scorpius had wrapped his tiny arms and hands around his neck and was trying to disappear underneath his skin, and Draco was perfectly fine with that. He felt hot thick tears prick at the corners of his eyes, stubbornly burning through his eyelids and seeking release. Draco felt them roll down his cheeks, felt them seep into Scorpius’ hair, and swallowing a sob, he pressed his lips firmly together and held his son.

Minutes past, and when Scorpius did not attempt to extract himself from his vice-like embrace, Draco slowly rose to his feet, lifting his son up and into his arms. In response, Scorpius wound his slender legs around his waist and drawing back a little; he looked at him with his sparkling silvery-grey eyes. He grinned broadly, and Draco felt the palms of his little hands press against his cheek, squeezing and moulding his face to his liking. He huffed out a breath of warm air and grinned too. Out of the corner of his eye, he was vaguely aware that Harry had approached them but was gallantly keeping a bit of distance, giving them a bit of space.

“Dad!”

Scorpius’ first word was that, just that, and Draco instantly found himself fighting a battle of wills to keep yet more tears from spilling over the rim of his eyes and possibly frightening the life out of his little boy.

“My precious boy.”

Draco placed a gentle kiss on his son’s forehead and smiled when Scorpius giggled and wriggled in his embrace but did not demand to return to the ground.

“Are you feeling better, Dad? Mummy and Uncle Harry said you’ve been a bit sick so you’re here to get better.”

Draco smiled softly.

“That’s right. I’m feeling much better, darling.”

“Will you come home soon? I miss you so much.”

Draco glanced at Harry and momentarily unsure what to say; he swallowed hard. Thankfully, Harry took a step closer and placing a hand on Scorpius’ little shoulder; he squeezed gently.

“Scorp, your dad needs to stay here a little while longer but now that he’s doing better, we can visit often.”

Draco frowned a little at Harry’s nickname for his son but decided against saying anything.

Scorpius craned his neck and looked at Harry.

“Every day?”

He asked the question with a positively hopeful look in his glimmering silvery-grey eyes and Draco wanted to scream yes, yes, yes, every day, all day, but he pressed his lips together and remained silent.

“Hm, perhaps not every day, Scorp. Remember you’ve got homework and you’ve been so good helping Al with his maths. If you stop now, he’ll decide he hates the subject again.”

Draco raised a curious eyebrow at Harry, but Harry temporarily waved him off.

“Hm, I’ve got to help Al, that’s true,” Scorpius said. “But school’s out early on Fridays, Uncle Harry; we can visit then, yes? And on the weekends?”

“Absolutely, sweetheart.”

A small part of Draco felt incredibly jealous, and the close bond Harry had forged with his son, but another, more significant part of him was beyond grateful that Scorpius was in such good hands and had even made a friend, even if said friend was Harry’s youngest boy.

“Great!”

Scorpius clapped his hands together and grinning from ear to ear he turned his attention back to Draco and looked at him.

“Dad, Aunt Ginny and mummy took all of us to the zoo yesterday. It was so much fun.”

“Who’s all of us?” Draco asked, even though he knew.

“Al, me, baby Lily, Jamie and Teddy.”

“Did you behave?”

Scorpius nodded vigorously.

“They weren’t too happy about the snakes being behind glass, they wanted to set them all free,” Harry said with a chuckle.

“Figures,” Draco grinned.

“We were mostly good. Mummy wasn’t feeling too well, so she went home first.”

“Oh?”

Curiosity piqued, Draco carefully took several steps back and sat down on the bench with Scorpius still in his arms. Harry sat down beside them but left a small gap between them to give them a bit of space, a gesture Draco appreciated but considered unnecessary.

“Is mummy better today?”

Scorpius shook his head.

“She’s been sleeping all day, and Aunt Ginny says she’s got a sore head, so Uncle Harry and I came here.”

“I see. I’m sure it’s just a bad headache. Mummies sometimes get bad headaches, you know. You’ll have to be extra good for mummy and give her loads of hugs and kisses. Will you do that, Scorpius?”

Scorpius nodded.

“Yes, dad.”

“Good boy. I’m so proud of you.”

Smiling, Draco ruffled his son’s hair, and while doing so, he glanced at Harry, who shook his head and mouthed something about telling him later. Draco nodded and reaching for the little gift box; he’d prepared for his son, he took it and was about to hand it to Scorpius when the little boy spoke up.

“Dad,” he exclaimed excitedly.

“Yes, darling?”

“Dad, Al and I decided that when we get our Hogwarts letters, we’ll absolutely go to Sly— Sly— Sly—,” Scorpius paused and frowned, looking a bit agitated.

“Slytherin,” Draco offered.

“Yes, Slytherin,” Scorpius nodded. “We’ll go to Slytherin together. We want to be in the same house and in the same dorm.”

Draco smiled and chancing another glance at Harry; he caught him grinning.

“That’s great. What does Harry say about you both wanting to be in Slytherin then?”

Scorpius twisted his head and looked at Harry.

“Uncle Harry said whatever makes us happy, isn’t that so?”

Harry nodded.

“Absolutely, Scorp.”

“See, Dad, Uncle Harry doesn’t mind at all. It’s just Jamie; he’s stupid about it. He says Gryffindor is the only right house.”

Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes. It figured that Harry Potter’s oldest son was spouting such nonsense, although he was genuinely pleased to know that the boy’s father did not support those idiotic and outdated notions. He placed the palm of his hand above Scorpius’ heart and smiled.

“The right house for you, my son, is in here. Wherever you want to go, that’s right for you, my darling.”

Scorpius nodded, and Draco kissed his forehead, then handed him the little black gift box with the green flower bow.

“I’ve got a little present for you, Scorpius,” he said.

Draco delighted in the way his son’s eyes lit up and sparkled. He reached for the box with both hands, mumbled a distracted thank you, and toying with the flower bow, he scrutinised it, then lifted the lid off the box and gasped with excitement as his gaze settled upon the bracelet inside.

“I made this for you, darling,” Draco whispered and took the bracelet out of the box. He reached for Scorpius’ left hand and slipped the bracelet over it and onto his wrist, then adjusted the width of it to ensure that it wouldn’t fall off again.

Scorpius stared at the bracelet, trailed his index finger over the engraving, and then toyed with the green gemstone charm.

“Our story isn’t over yet, son,” he slowly read the words, and Draco found himself nodding along and mouthing the phrase without speaking the words aloud.

“What does that mean, dad?” Scorpius asked, looking at him expectantly.

Draco smiled.

“Just that we’ll be spending much more time together in future, darling.”

Scorpius nodded.

“Does that mean you won’t work so much anymore?”

Draco ruffled his son’s hair and kissed his forehead again. He tried to ignore the lingering feeling of guilt at knowing that Astoria had lied to Scorpius and told him the reason, they’d hardly spent any time together as a family over the years had been because he’d been working hard when, in fact, he’d spent days in his study, drinking himself into a stupor. He felt and saw his hands tremble slightly, and when he felt Harry’s hand on his back, felt the warmth of his touch as it seeped through his shirt and into his skin, he turned his head and briefly held Harry’s gaze. For a moment, he nearly drowned in those mesmerisingly emerald-green eyes, and not for the first time either, but resolutely looked away and focused back on Scorpius instead.

“Absolutely, Scorpius. Once I’m all better, you and I will spend a lot of time together, and we’ll do plenty of fun things. I promise.”

Scorpius grinned.

“We’ll have to spend loads of time outside, so you don’t get sick no more, dad. Mummy said working too much is unhealthy.”

“It absolutely is, darling, and I’ll make sure to work only as much as I have to and only when you’re at school, OK? The rest of the time we’ll be together.”

“Yay!”

Scorpius jumped on his lap, wrapped his arms firmly around his neck and pressed a big slobbery kiss to his cheek. Draco laughed and squeezed Scorpius tight, delighting in how effortlessly it felt to communicate with his son and how lively the boy was. His heart fluttered pleasantly, and he shuddered a little when Scorpius suddenly pressed his lips to his ear and whispered something.

Frowning, Draco looked sideways at Harry and then at Scorpius when he drew back and stared at him expectantly.

“Uncle Harry works too much, you say?” he asked.

Scorpius nodded.

“Well, that’s not OK. I’ll tell Harry.”

Barely managing to suppress a grin, Draco turned his head and smirked at Harry.

“Uncle Harry mustn’t work so much; you’ll worry the children.”

Harry laughed heartily.

“Yes, daddy.”

Draco rolled his eyes but said nothing else. Instead, he focused his attention on his son and chatted with him. He knew that a single afternoon’s conversation couldn’t make up for the six years of precious parenting time he’d lost out on due to his addiction, but Draco was determined to show not only his son but also Harry that he wanted to turn a page and start anew. Scorpius was still young. While Draco knew that one day he would have to tell his son the truth, he also knew that he still had a few years left before he had to face the music and sit Scorpius down to say to him that work had never made him sick and that his present recovery was related to a different type of illness altogether.

Still, for now, he pushed those thoughts away and cherished the time he and Scorpius had. They chatted all afternoon, and at some point, Harry excused himself and headed inside to give them a bit of privacy. On the one hand, Draco appreciated the gesture but, on another side, he sorely missed Harry’s presence and the knowledge that Harry was just a couple of metres away from him but out of his sight irked him more than he was willing to admit to himself.

Instead of confronting his conflicting feelings, Draco lifted Scorpius onto his shoulders, and together they headed for the park and visited the ducks. Scorpius insisted on naming them all, although halfway through it started pouring from the skies and hugging Scorpius to his chest, Draco dashed back into the building. Soaked through to the bone, they found Harry drinking coffee in the common room and chilling on one of the sofas, casually perusing a Muggle newspaper but not focused on it. Seeing them both looking like drowned rats resulted in Harry immediately jumping to his feet and ushering them both into Draco’s room. There he cast a wandless drying charm over them both and then left to procure hot chocolate and biscuits for Scorpius.

Draco felt a jolt of happiness when Harry returned some ten minutes later with a tray laden with three cups of steaming hot chocolate, topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, a plate with chocolate-chip cookies and a Muggle boardgame. They settled around the small table in Draco’s room, but since Scorpius insisted on sitting on his lap, Draco ended up sitting closer to Harry than he’d expected. He tried not let that distract him and focused on the game and his son instead, but occasionally, his attention drifted towards Harry and all he’d done for him so far, and he had to make a conscious effort to stay focused.

They played until dinner time, and although Draco tried to persuade Harry to stay for dinner and join him, he was unsuccessful in delaying his departure a little further. However, he was confident that Harry had seen right through his charade. He promised to return tomorrow afternoon, and when Scorpius protested and insisted that he wanted to come too, he suggested that they both return the day after tomorrow. The compromise seemed to appease Scorpius, who accepted it without further argument.

Draco walked them both to the door, then lingered for several minutes. He felt strangely bereft, like a massive part of him had left along with Harry and Scorpius. It took him nearly fifteen minutes to find the will to turn around and drag himself back to the canteen, where he quietly consumed his dinner. Afterwards, he withdrew into his private room and closing the door behind him, he settled on his bed and spent the next two hours writing in his journal. Exhaustion caught up with him before he managed to complete his lengthy entry and he fell asleep on top of his bed, still fully clothed.

* * *

 


	7. The Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between being on holiday, spotty internet access (and by that I mean a decent Wi-Fi connection on my laptop), travelling back to China, horrid jetlag (I'm still dealing with now), and the start of the new school semester (it's back to teaching for me after the summer break), getting this new chapter ready took a while. There've been a few attempts, but I lacked the energy and focus to write. Tonight, I still feel that way, but after a 15-minute power nap, I felt strong enough to convince myself that this chapter needed to be edited and written tonight.
> 
> Thank you for your patience.  
> September will be a busy month for me as I'm trying to work ahead to lessen my workload in October, November, December and January (hopefully I'll manage to stick to my plan of being proactive, I can be a terrible procrastinator) but I will have time to write, and updates will be more or less regular.
> 
> Love,  
> Selly x

* * *

Harry crouched down and picked up a flat pebble. He toyed with the small smooth rounded rock for a moment or two, then looked up at Draco and smiled. Rising to his feet, he sent it skipping over the lake’s calm surface with a practised flick of his wrist. It jumped four times, then disappeared into the water and turning his head, Harry raised a questioning eyebrow at Draco, a silent challenge, but didn’t ask him anything in particular.

Draco responded with a weak smile but remained otherwise quiet.

Having taken the afternoon off work, something that, as of late, had become a regular occurrence, Harry had arrived at the clinic some two hours ago. What with Ginny taking care of their children, he wasn’t under any pressure to leave anytime soon and had no plans to do so either.

As always, he’d brought fresh filter coffee and several sugar sachets. They were all for Draco, who had developed a rather horrid new habit, one that left Harry speechless each time he was forced to witness it.

For some inexplicable reason, Draco had taken to turning his coffee into the sweetest concoction humanly possible.

In Harry’s opinion, once Draco finished adding all the sugar, the coffee was no longer drinkable, but he knew better than point that out. He also thought that what with all the added sugar the coffee couldn’t really be called coffee anymore, but Harry continued to refrain from sharing his thoughts about what he considered to be drinkable coffee with Draco. While Draco’s heavy and prolonged dependence on alcohol had wreaked havoc with his magic, it had done absolutely nothing to diminish Draco’s uncanny ability to kill someone with a look.

His icy death glower was a work of art and had style. Harry secretly rather liked Draco’s dark glare. It didn’t especially frighten him nor did it ever stop him from teasing Draco about one thing or another, but it was a look Harry had grown quite fond of. It was unique, and it had character. It was Draco’s signature trait, one of the many things Harry had always found alluring about the boy who had once been his sworn enemy and was now on the fast track to becoming his best friend.

Apart from two large mugs of coffee, Harry had also brought along Draco’s favourite sweet treat ― Vanilla Bean and Raspberry Tart. It hadn’t long for Harry to discover that Draco had more than just a secret love affair with all things sweet. He had an absolutely terrible sweet tooth, and apart from always supplying Draco with his favourite tarts and the occasional French pastry, Harry also made sure that Draco had a designated sweets’ drawer in his room ― it was always full to the brim with a large assortment of Draco’s favourite sweets and plenty of chocolates.

They’d both indulged in their rather un-British afternoon tea in Draco’s room over a game of ordinary Muggle chess. Draco had, of course, dragged Harry’s arse across the board, and he’d lost the game, just like he always did. Harry didn’t care whether he won or lost the game. He wasn’t as obsessed with it as Ron and merely played it to pass the time and entertain Draco, who loved to spice up the game with snarky comments, bored eyerolls and various expressions of scornful derision.

Despite the thick layer of sarcasm and sass, Draco usually disguised himself with, it had taken Harry barely two minutes to work out that Draco was preoccupied with something or other.

He’d been attentive and had actively participated in their conversation and the game, but somehow something had been amiss. There’d been a distinct lack of enthusiasm and Draco had been unusually quiet. While he’d made the one or the other off-handed comment, he’d also often turned his head to look out of the window and even after they’d finished their desserts and the game, Draco had continued to nervously toy with his plastic fork.

Harry hadn’t pushed for answers. He never did. Not straight away anyway. That approach simply didn’t work with Draco. He was the kind of person who needed to sit on his thoughts for a while before he was ready to share them. On occasion, Harry did push, but he only did it whenever he was anxious about Draco.

So instead of asking Draco what was bothering him, Harry had suggested a stroll in the park in the hope that the fresh air might help Draco relax and that he would eventually open up and share. Draco didn’t appear to be having a bad day, but Harry didn’t plan on returning home until he knew, for sure, what the problem was. He had an idea, a bit of an inkling, and was pretty sure that once Draco chose to open up to him, he’d find his suspicions confirmed.

Still, he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. He wanted Draco to know that he would always be there for him, that this wasn’t a temporary arrangement, and that they were friends and would always be friends. Draco had come this far already. He was less than a month away from celebrating his six-months-sober-anniversary, and Harry was thoroughly invested in making sure that Draco would reach that goal. He wanted to be there to see the smile on Draco’s face when he got to that milestone, and he genuinely wanted Draco to continue to get better.

He knew that there were days when Draco craved a drink, and when his need to taste alcohol was so great that he struggled to accomplish even the simplest of tasks. Harry also knew that Draco continued to battle the demons that kept trying to drag him under with all his might. Whatever they threw at him, he found a way to deal with it. Not always without help from others, but giving up seemingly didn’t seem to be an option for Draco. Each time his demons tried to get their claws into him or tried to get the better of him, he faced them head-on and fought them with everything he had. Draco was determined. He was a fighter, and it was that very attitude that Harry liked.

Not in any rush to break the comfortable silence between him and Draco, Harry crouched down again. He searched for another flat pebble, and after a minute or two, he found one a good one. Picking it up, he straightened himself up and wordlessly offered it to Draco, who looked first at the pebble, then at him, and frowned.

“Make it skip just like I did?” Harry asked.

Draco shook his head.

“I don’t know how to that,” he said, his voice low and quiet.

Harry smiled.

“You know how to flick a wand, don’t you?”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“I am a wizard, Potter, of course, I know how to flick a wand. Don’t be daft.”

Harry chuckled.

He reached for Draco’s hand and placed the flat stone in the centre of his palm.

“If you know how to flick a wand, you know how to flick a pebble. Go on, do your worst.”

Draco pressed his lips together and glowered a little.

“Do you get some sort of a kick out of seeing me embarrass myself?” he asked.

Harry grinned.

“Absolutely. That’s the stuff my dreams are made of.”

“You know, Potter, I know a good therapist. You might benefit from a session or two.”

Harry laughed.

“I also know a couple of good therapists.”

“Your ex-wife and her colleagues don’t count,” Draco said with a mocking drawl.

“Flick the pebble, Malfoy.”

“Bossy.”

“Always.”

A brief smile flickered across Draco’s face, but it was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. Harry watched him take a step closer to the lake’s shore. He weighed the small flat stone in his hand, inspected it from various angles, then flicked his wrist and attempted to send the pebble skipping across the water’s surface.

He failed.

“Satisfied? Told you I can’t do it.”

Draco glared and crossed his arms over his chest.

Instead of commenting, Harry crouched down for the third time and searched for yet another suitable stone. After a brief search and a bit of wandless magic, he found three. Picking them all up, he held on to two, then handed the third one to Draco, who gave him a pointed look.

“Can I flick it at your head?” he asked.

Harry chuckled.

“You’re more than welcome to try, but you know I’ll just repel it with a wandless shield charm, I’m rather good at those.”

“Aurors…”

Harry managed to suppress the urge to laugh out loud but couldn’t entirely stop himself from snorting under his breath in amusement.

Somehow, Draco could convey more with a single drawled word than a complete sentence. He had the immense talent to inject his entire personality into whatever he said because it wasn’t just the way he said things, but also his facial expressions. He frequently laced his words with his salty sarcasm or his signature sly Slytherin sass. Draco didn’t need to use insults or foul language to make words cut like a knife. His words had the ability to both slice you wide open and to embrace you to make you feel loved; they hit all the right spots all at once. It was a talent, Harry had never seen before, and he’d grown rather fond of it. It wasn’t something he wanted to go without any time soon, just like he had no intention of giving up on Draco.

When Draco, in the act of pure defiance, attempted to drop the stone onto the ground, Harry utilised his Seeker’s reflexes and closing his fingers around Draco’s hand, he stopped him from doing so.

Instead, he stepped behind Draco and standing right behind him, he used both his hands and gently guided Draco to adjust his grip on the flat stone. Together, they perfected Draco’s hand movement, and after a few attempts, Harry helped Draco to flick the stone across the water. It skipped twice, then disappeared beneath the water’s surface, slowly sinking to the bottom of the lake.

Handing Draco another flat pebble and taking the smallest step backwards, Harry watched as Draco attempted to toss the flat stone, making it skip over the lake and towards its centre. Draco managed to make the pebble skip once, and Harry smiled when he caught sight of the competitive flicker of childish excitement in Draco’s beautiful silvery-grey eyes.

“Best of three chooses tonight’s board game,” he said, purposefully baiting Draco’s competitive nature.

Draco smirked.

“You’re on, Potter, you’re so on.”

They each gathered three flat stones, took their positions and then flicked them across the lake, counting how many times each one skipped over the water’s surface before it finally sank to the bottom of the shallow lake.

Harry managed three, five, and three and Draco managed four, two and six. He did a small victory dance, and even though Harry tried to keep his composure, he was unable to stop himself from bursting into laughter. He casually flung his arm around Draco’s shoulder, squeezed, and guided him over to a nearby park bench where they both sat down and leant back.

Harry grudgingly removed his arm from around Draco’s shoulders and throwing one leg over the other, he watched Draco stretch his legs and cross them at the ankles. Draco pushed his hands into the pockets of his favourite pair of jeans, and for a while, silence descended over them. Harry did feel the urge to break it, to ask Draco what was bothering him, but he ignored the temptation and decided to wait a little longer.

It paid off.

Some five minutes later, Draco let out a small sigh, turned his head, and looked right at him.

“I don’t think I’m ready, Harry,” he said.

His voice was low, and he sounded quite subdued.

Harry mentally patted his own back ― he’d been absolutely right with his assumption.

Draco was worried about leaving the clinic and returning to the real world.

His therapist had brought it up a while back. She’d suggested that he should stay until after he’d reached his six-months-sober-milestone, but after that, the decision was up to him.

“Draco. Nothing’s set in stone just yet. They’ve only brought it up because it’s something you need to think about, something you need time to familiarise yourself with. I promise you; they won’t release you until you’re good and ready. You decide when it’s time for you to leave this place.”

Draco sighed softly and nodded.

“I know that, but ―”

Draco fell silent mid-sentence and pulling his hands out of the pockets of his jeans, he clasped and twisted his hands together. He stared into the distance, nervously wrought his hands and let out another sigh.

“But you’re scared. Am I right?”

Harry finished the sentence for him. Draco didn’t answer, but Harry neither needed nor wanted him to. Over the last few months, he’d discovered that he could read Draco like a book. Harry wasn’t always entirely spot on with every tiny detail, but he usually got the general gist right, and his perceptiveness was what made Draco open up to him. He wanted to share, but sometimes he needed a gentle nudge in the right direction.

“Draco. It’s perfectly OK to feel scared or overwhelmed or both. The idea of leaving this place must be daunting, I’ve no doubt about it, but no matter how terrified you feel now, you have to remember that leaving will be your choice. This place will do its best to prepare you for the real world, but they won’t give you a deadline and tell you that you have to be ready by then. That’s not how it works.”

“I feel weak.”

Draco’s quiet confession was barely louder than a whisper, but Harry had heard it loud and clear. Without putting any thought into his actions, he sat forward and placing his hand on Draco’s thigh, he squeezed gently.

“You’re not weak, Draco. You are strong. You are a fighter. Look at what you’ve achieved since you got here. You’ve cleaned yourself up, and you’re sober. You’re dealing with things, and you’re talking to people. You’re not drinking to drown your feelings and emotions or to hide from things or people.”

For a while, Draco remained silent. He continued to look out over the lake, but eventually, he lowered his head and looked down at Harry’s hand, which was still resting on his thigh. Harry gave it another gentle squeeze, and Draco slowly turned his head.

“Like you said all these months ago, we survived a war, we saw so many people die, and there were so much hatred and sorrow. We went through all that and yet something as simple as the idea of returning to Malfoy Manor and actually living my life without relying on alcohol for help; well, it bloody terrifies me. It makes me want to run. I want to disappear in some dark cave and never emerge again.”

Harry smiled.

“Nah, you don’t want that. I’ve got it on good authority that there’s no such thing as Vanilla Bean and Raspberry Tart in dark caves.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but a faint smile flickered around the corners of his mouth.

“Gradual release, Draco. A couple of hours here and there to start with, then a day, maybe two. Baby steps all the way. If you don’t feel ready, we’ll stop and make arrangements for you to stay a bit longer, learn a few more lessons, go through a bit more therapy, then we can start practising all over again. Also, who says that you’re expected to return to Malfoy Manor. There’s a room ready and waiting for at my place. It’s right next to a large room for Scorpius. That one has all his toys, and he jumps on the bed every single night. It doesn’t matter how often we tell him not do.”

For a few seconds, Draco’s eyes seemed glassy and like he was about to cry, but then he blinked several times and cleared the fine film of unshed tears away. He swallowed and shook his head.

“You’ve done so much already, Harry. I can’t expect you to babysit me once I get out of here.”

“I’ve no intention of babysitting you, Draco, you don’t need it. I want a friend, my friend. Scorpius needs his father and my three ruffians could use the influence of someone who’ll teach them to think before they act because as you know, that’s not exactly my forte.”

Draco chuckled softly.

“You can say that again, bloody Gryffindor.”

Harry grinned.

He gave Draco’s thigh one last squeeze, then reluctantly withdrew his hand.

“Besides, as you know your son and my boy Al have become the best of friends. Believe me, when you see them together, you won’t have the heart to tear them apart, not even for a day. Al has all but adopted Scorp, they are best friends.”

Draco laughed.

“I’ve got to ask Scorp how he did it. When I tried to become your friend, you turned me down.”

“You were a prat about it. Your son is a charming young man.”

“You’re laying it on a bit thick there, Potter. Also, stop butchering my son’s name like that.”

“I will do neither of those two things. Your room is ready and waiting for you. You have a place to stay when you get out of here, and it will be with me. We are friends, and that’s not something that’s going to change just because you’re going to leave this place one day. When I decided to drag you in here and force you to detox against your will, I knew this would be a lifetime commitment, and I intend to honour that promise of friendship, Draco. I will be there for you, for Scorp, and for your wife. You’re just going to have to wrap your head around the fact that this bloody Gryffindor, as you so eloquently put it, isn’t going anywhere. You’ve kicked out at me, you’ve lashed out at me, both physically and verbally, yet I’m still here, doing my little bit to help you keep fighting. If that hasn’t convinced you that I’m not walking away from you, then what I’m saying now better get through that thick skull of yours, Malfoy. I am here to stay. You can lean on me whenever you want to, and for however long you need to.”

Harry, who hadn’t planned to say quite this much, abruptly fell silent. Draco, who had held his gaze all throughout his little speech, slowly turned his head and let out a small sigh. He slowly got to his feet, pulled his hands apart and pushed them deep into the pockets of his jeans. He took several steps towards the lake and stood there in silent contemplation. Harry neither called out to him nor did he join him. He simply stayed right where he was and watched Draco, giving him the time and space, he needed to process everything and sort his thoughts.

His patience paid off. Nearly a quarter of an hour passed, but eventually, Draco turned around and walked back to him. Instead of sitting down on the park bench, he remained standing, and for a moment, he simply stood there, looking a bit helpless. He stared at the ground and toyed with the gravel beneath his feet but eventually lifted his gaze.

Harry smiled.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Draco spoke quietly, softly. He sounded almost shy, though Harry was happy to hear that he no longer sounded subdued.

“You don’t have to say anything, just know that my home is your home. You have a room to call home at Grimmauld Place, and it’s yours for as long as you need it to be.”

“You’ll regret this.”

Harry chuckled.

He got to his feet and patted Draco on the shoulder.

“I really doubt that. You might like it when people think that you’re a stuck-up Slytherin, but you keep forgetting that I’ve seen the real you, Draco. You’ve got a good heart. Anyone who loves his son as much as you love Scorp―”

“Stop butcher―”

“Stop butchering his name like that, I know. Not going to happen. Scorp loves his nickname, and so do you, but we both know that you wouldn’t admit that even if I tortured you for a week.”

“What an astute observation, Potter.”

“I have my moments.”

“Yet moments are all they are.”

“Hey now, don’t be rude.”

“I’m not. I’m merely stating a fact. I’ll always tell you exactly what you don’t want to hear.”

Harry smiled.

“Will you promise me that?”

Draco raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

“Promise you what?”

“Promise to always tell me exactly what I don’t want to hear. I want the truth from you, always, no sugar-coating.”

Draco grinned.

There was a sly sort of smile in his eyes and Harry revelled in it.

He threw his arm around Draco’s shoulders, and when he received no objections, he gently guided Draco away from the bench and down the path that led around the lake. They’d rounded it together many times before, but that didn’t stop them from doing so again. They walked in step, enveloped in comfortable silence until they’d rounded half of the lake. There, Draco stopped abruptly, and Harry very nearly bumped into him but somehow, managed to keep his balance and prevent himself from sending them both flying to the ground.

“Thank you, Harry.”

Harry clicked his tongue.

“There’s no need for that.”

“There’s every need for that, Harry. What you’ve done for me and what you’re offering, it means the world to me. It’s a lifeline and these past few months have taught me how to treasure that more than anything in his world. I realise now that over the years Astoria tried to throw me a lifeline, but I was too self-absorbed and weak to see it for what it really was. I thought it a nuisance. I pushed her away, and I hurt her in ways I can never atone for. She fought so hard to help me, and when she realised that she couldn’t, she fought to raise our son not to hate his father even though I was never really there for him. I was too busy being piss-drunk, Harry, to be a father, or a decent husband, and knowing that, really fucking hurts.”

Draco fell silent for a moment, and something heavy struck Harry right in the centre of his chest. His heart lurched and twisted and he only just about found the strength to stop himself from grimacing. He could see the pain and guilt in Draco’s eyes, and even though it wasn’t his burden to carry, knowing that Draco was hurting, tore him apart. He’d come to care a great deal for Draco. They were friends, and Harry didn’t want Draco to feel like this. He didn’t want him to be sad or in pain.

A hollow laugh erupted from Draco’s throat and cut through Harry’s thoughts.

“You know what’s funny, Harry? Less than six months ago I’d have downed a bottle of Firewhiskey to stop the miserable loneliness, the self-loathing, the guilt, and the hurt, but right now I’m quite content to just feel. It’s overwhelming, and it’s an absolutely awful sensation, but I don’t want to numb it with alcohol. I want this. I want to feel. So, thank you.”

Unsure of what to respond to that, Harry did the next best thing he could think of. He pulled Draco into a fierce hug and patted him on the back.

“You’ve got this, Draco, you’ve absolutely got this.”

Draco reciprocated the hug, and they stood like this for a moment or two, then slowly drew back. They smiled at each other and Harry placed his hand on Draco’s shoulder and squeezed it.

“I’ll be there for you, I mean it. I’ll say it as often as you need to hear it. All I want in return is that you’ll always tell me the truth about everything. You’ll never need to keep anything from me.”

Draco nodded.

“Thanks, Potter, you’re a decent man.”

Harry smiled.

“I try.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Modest to a fault. Let’s head back, or we’ll miss dinner.”

“What are they serving?”

“Pan-seared Thyme lamb steaks.”

Harry laughed.

“Sounds fancy.”

“I assure you it’s not.”

“Just wait until you’re ready to get out of here, I’ll rustle you up something good.”

Draco frowned.

“On second thought, I think I’d rather stay. My liver barely made it through my self-induced repeated alcohol poisoning. I doubt it has the energy left to deal with whatever poison you’ll serve me.”

“Oi! I can cook, I’ll have you know.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Sure, you can, Potter.”

Harry glared.

He knew his glower wasn’t quite as effective as Draco’s, but that didn’t stop him from trying to best him.

Draco smirked.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and tried his best to look menacing, but Draco only smirked harder.

Letting out a low growl, Harry turned on his heels and strode down the pathway. He stopped after about five steps and turned back to look over his shoulder.

“Just so you know, Malfoy, those Vanilla Bean and Raspberry Tarts you like so much. I stopped buying them a while ago. For the last two months, I’ve been backing them myself.”

Harry watched gleefully, and with a certain sense of pride, as Draco’s jaw dropped and his mouth fell open. He stared, and it took him a full seven seconds before he managed to compose himself enough to close his mouth again, clear his throat and straighten himself up again.

“You are―”

“No, I’m not.”

Harry cut in before Draco could accuse him of trying to fib him.

“It’s not that difficult a recipe. I found it on the internet, and it was surprisingly easy to make. Judging by your appetite, I must be doing something right.”

“Found it on the where?”

Draco asked the question with a steadily deepening frown.

“The internet,” Harry said with a smile.

“Come on, I brought my laptop. I’ll show you what it is. It’s like magic, Muggle magic.”

* * *

 


	8. A Room On The Fourth Floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally it doesn't take me that long to produce a new chapter for an ongoing WIP, but work's been a bit mad lately and I've been quite stressed out. RL can be a bit of a nuisance sometimes.
> 
> Hoping to get back on track now.
> 
> Suffice to say, this story will get the finish it deserves.

* * *

* * *

Draco looked around the spacious room on the fourth floor of Grimmauld Place. The old Victorian-style house was Harry’s home and had been for many years now. Every corner of every room revealed a bit of Harry’s character, his likes and his dislikes, things that brought him comfort and photographs that reminded him of the past and of his children. The house was alive and full of love and passion. It buzzed and fuelled everyone who stepped over the threshold with a burst of energy. Draco liked it here.

Over the last few weeks, he’d visited regularly. The first time he’d barely stayed an hour, but gradually, he and Harry, together with Draco’s therapist, had worked on lengthening his stay. It hadn’t taken Draco long to discover that he felt safe here at Grimmauld Place. The house welcomed him, and somehow, he couldn’t get the idea that he belonged here out of his head.

He’d told Harry all about how he felt about staying at Grimmauld Place during one of their walks around the lake in the clinic’s vast garden. Although he’d felt a bit anxious about sharing his feelings with regards to the house with Harry, his worries had been entirely unfounded. Harry had responded with a broad smile. He’d thrown an arm around his shoulder, and after pulling him close he’d told him that Grimmauld Place was his home for as long as Draco wanted it to be his home.

Draco smiled fondly at the memory and letting it linger, he allowed his eyes to drift towards the old high sash windows. Bright sunlight flooded through the sparkling glass, filling the room with warmth and light. The white wooden frame gleamed; proudly showing off the fresh coating of paint they’d received not so long ago ― Harry had indeed spared no expense in his attempt to turn this room into a safe haven for him, and Draco knew he would be eternally grateful.

The heavy turquoise floor-length satin curtains gave the room a fresh and youthful look, and Draco was glad that they bore a resemblance to his favourite colour, Slytherin-green, but lacked the oppressive darkness that the colour brought with it.

Instead, it was light and had an aura of playfulness about it. To Draco, it marked a new beginning, and he couldn’t help but wonder whether Harry had chosen the fabric and colour by himself ― perhaps Ginny or Astoria had offered input.

Chuckling softly under his breath, Draco shook his head and let his gaze wander around the room, taking everything in. Harry had surprised him with the finished room today, and it had well and truly taken his breath away. Upon opening the door, he’d expected to find all his furniture from the Manor, but instead the large room looked nothing like the old Malfoy ancestral home and Draco was more than glad about that.

Ever since his arrival at the clinic, he hadn’t been back to the Manor and even though Harry had offered to accompany him, Draco had no desire to tackle that particular trigger. Both Harry and his therapist at the clinic told him that there was no rush but that he couldn’t run from that confrontation forever.

Draco knew that he would have to face those demons someday soon, but for now this room, a home Harry had prepared especially for him, was far more intriguing.

The king-sized double bed was brand-new, and Draco was reasonably enamoured with the Queen-sized sleigh bed, made of a medium-density tropical hardwood that Harry had painted an elegant shade of black. The headboard had a leather padding that made propping yourself up against a pillow entirely unnecessary. The pillow covers were a dark shade of grey and made of pure silk. The duvet cover was a much lighter shade of grey and Draco rather liked the contrast. The bed looked thoroughly inviting, and Draco suddenly found himself considering to try and spend his first night away from the clinic.

He didn’t know whether he was ready for it, but _Salazar_ , his whole body, every inch absolutely itched to feel that soft cool silk against his naked body. Anything but those horrid plain cotton sheets and covers the clinic insisted on. They allowed blankets and the sheets were always clean and felt soft, but Draco hadn’t felt the glorious sensations of silk teasing his body in longer than he cared to remember and his desire to remind himself what it was like was strong.

Harry had outdone himself with furnishing the room for him, and a warm fuzzy sensation spread from the centre of Draco’s chest and through the rest of his body. Instead of opting for an old-fashioned massive dark oak four-poster bed and a matching desk, Harry had boldly chosen to purchase modern furniture. It was a complete departure from everything Draco knew and had grown up with. Some seven months ago, Draco had rejected the mere idea of change, but now he welcomed it with open arms. Everything about the room felt like a new beginning, a fresh start, and these days, that was precisely what Draco needed and wanted.

 _Yes_ , Draco thought to himself and walked across the room. He let his fingertips glide over the polished ebony wood of his new desk. The colour matched the bed, but the design was modern, and his new workspace looked light. Draco smirked at the new laptop; Harry had, despite his vehement protests, purchased for him. It stood, sleeping, in the centre of his desk and even though Draco still struggled to wrap his head around how to use the Muggle device, he was adamant about learning the craft.

He’d seen the way Scorpius navigated his way around the internet and how he had absolutely no trouble locating something he called a website, on which he and Albus played Muggle games against each other and screamed the entire house down whenever they advanced a level after defeating a vicious monster with seven arms and three heads. Draco loathed the idea that Scorpius, albeit his young age, was better at handling a silly Muggle device and it only fuelled Draco’s competitiveness. He wanted to learn. He tried to understand Scorp’s joy, and from everything Harry had told him, a laptop was a handy thing indeed, and Draco’s mind was made up ― he wanted to learn everything there was to learn.

Draco’s glance drifted away from the laptop and settled on the two turquoise armchairs by the fireplace. They drew his attention and walking over to them, Draco placed his hand on top of the backrest of one of them. The fabric was soft to the touch and tickled his palm. Draco closed his eyes and imagined the crackling sounds of a warm, comforting fire. His entire personal library from his study at the Manor graced the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves across from his desk.

It was yet more proof of how much Harry wanted him to feel at home here at Grimmauld Place, and Draco had no doubt that he would find something suitable to read. Over the years, he’d added a considerable number of books to his father’s and mother’s already impressive selection, although to this day many of the books, he’d bought, had remained unread. When alcohol had started to become the most essential thing in his life, he’d lost all interest in reading.

Letting out a long sigh, Draco found himself getting lost in the fantasy of curling up in one of the armchairs by the fireplace with his legs wrapped tightly into a soft cashmere blanket. He wanted to spend many long evenings in the chair closest to the window, losing himself in the world of a good book and drinking overly sweet black coffee. At this moment in time, he couldn’t think of a better way to pass the time, and as he continued to expand his fantasy, Harry suddenly occupied the chair across from him, but instead of reading a book, he was engulfed in working his way through a pile of reports that required his signature.

Draco couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but the idea of spending a quiet evening together with Harry in front of the fireplace filled him with a sense of warmth and an even greater sense of longing. Harry had become his shoulder to lean on, his rock, the person in which he confided. He had become someone Draco willingly turned to for advice, a friend he looked up to, enjoyed spending time with, and thoroughly admired.

Harry had the uncanny ability to make him laugh even when he didn’t feel like it, or thought it was possible to do so. He made him feel safe, at home, and welcome. Draco had never thought he’d be lucky enough for them both to share that sort of bond. When he’d first met Harry, that kind of friendship was something he’d envisioned for them both, but circumstances hadn’t allowed for his wishes to come true.

Lost in the throes of his addiction, Draco had often felt alone, and that persistent feeling of loneliness had driven him to drink even more. It had been a vicious cycle, and out of all people it had been Harry whom, despite at first giving him hell for it, had allowed him to help him break the cycle. He’d used alcohol to numb his pain and to mute his feelings, but now that he’d had the chance to really get to know Harry, Draco felt loved, cherished, and cared for.

It was a feeling that while not entirely alien, still felt strange. Sometimes it took him a while to get used to the sensations, especially on bad days, but there was something about Harry that made Draco want to open up. He wanted to let Harry in, he’d always wanted just that, and although he was trying his hardest not to take up all of Harry’s time, he truly cherished every minute they got to spend together.

A gentle clearing of somebody’s throat put an abrupt end to his daydream and slowly opening his eyes, Draco blinked. He turned his head and found Astoria standing in the doorway of his new room. She was casually leaning against the doorframe with her hands loosely resting at her sides.

Her smile was warm and soft, just like it had always been, and her striking beauty instantly drew Draco in. It wasn’t a sexual attraction that drew him in but a sense of awe. Astoria wore her long auburn hair loose, and it framed her face and cascaded down her back and shoulders.

As she stepped into the room, Draco instantly noticed that her youthful appearance was just clever deceit, an attempt to hide the truth, whatever it was.

Astoria had always carried herself with an air of graceful elegance, but not even her forced upright posture could hide her weariness. Hers was the kind of tiredness that got stuck in your bones and refused to let go. The sort you could, for a while at least, pretend didn’t exist, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t entirely hide all of its signs. Some always showed.

Draco wasn’t sure what it was, but he could tell that something wasn’t right.

In fact, something seemed very wrong, and his heart skipped a beat, although not with excitement but with worry.

Astoria ambled, carefully setting one foot in front of the other. She moved as though she didn’t want him to know that she felt like she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders and she was most definitely trying to conceal that she wasn’t well. Draco noted the magical glamour that covered her face and silently concluded that his wife was trying to hide the fact that her fair skin had a sickly shade of unnatural paleness to it.

Momentarily forcing himself to push his worries aside, Draco smiled softly and stepping away from behind the comfortable turquoise wingback armchair, he met Astoria in the centre of the room. She’d visited him once at the clinic a few months back, and although she’d seemed tired then, Draco hadn’t attached any importance to it. Instead, he’d put it down to Scorpius being his usual self; an untameable wild child. While he could sit perfectly still and quietly entertain himself with his favourite children’s book, he also had the energy of three Chinese Fireball dragons combined, and it wasn’t easy to tire him out.

“Would me offering a hug make you feel awkward?” Draco asked.

Astoria chuckled softly and shook her head from side to side.

“No, it wouldn’t.”

Draco answered by spreading his arms and inviting Astoria in. She willingly stepped into his personal space and wrapping his arms gently around her, he pulled her close against his chest and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

Astoria’s lithe frame fitted his perfectly, and Draco felt her sneak her arms around his waist. She snuggled into his embrace and exhaled softly against his chest.

Draco smiled and closed his eyes for a few seconds. Although he’d never been passionately in love with Astoria, he didn’t hate her. He never had and never would. She was the mother of his son, and he cared for her deeply.

When she’d come to visit him at the clinic, they’d had a very long talk about the past, their marriage and Draco had apologised for the way he’d treated her and his persistent refusal to listen to her when she’d repeatedly offered to help him beat his addiction. She’d brushed his apologies off and told him that she didn’t hold a grudge, but Draco had, rather stubbornly, insisted on trying to make amends. She’d smiled and let him, and although he’d felt emotionally drained afterwards, it had also brought him a step further along on his road to recovery. Granted, after Astoria had left, he’d spent most of the night trying to control his trembling hands and fighting the strong desire to drink, but back then he hadn’t been as strong as he was now.

Some days he honestly struggled to win the fight against the part of his brain that repeatedly tried tricking him into going back to solving his problems with a drink, but over the last few months he’d learnt several beneficial coping mechanisms, and he tried his best to apply them daily. In therapy, they’d spent a great deal of time on identifying his triggers and knowing those definitely helped.

Stress, frustration, and depressive thoughts most definitely intensified his desire to drink. The Manor was also a potential trigger, hence his reluctance to return to the place. Being in the vicinity of a bottle of alcohol was the worst, though. Just seeing the bottle, and knowing there was alcohol inside, resulted in his hands shaking so badly that he had to sit on them to be able to focus on dealing with the anxiety, he felt about a potential relapse.

Astoria gently shifted in his embrace and opening his eyes, he loosened his hold on her and allowed her to withdraw and take a step back.

“How are you today?” she asked.

Draco smiled.

“It’s a good day,” he replied.

It was a good day, indeed, and the main reason why he had agreed to spent the entire afternoon at Grimmauld Place. Sometime after lunch, Ginny had firecalled to ask whether she could drop Al off since he kept asking to see his dad. Unable and unwilling to deny Harry an afternoon of quality time with his youngest son, Draco had answered on Harry’s behalf and told her to floo the boy over. The two of them had arrived a few minutes later, and after a short enquiry about his wellbeing, Ginny had left again.

The three of them had then settled in the second-floor living room, and Al had asked them to play his favourite Muggle game with him. They’d entertained him for the better part of two hours, and although Draco had tried to hide it, he’d felt a bit drained. Somehow, Harry had sensed that and surprising him with the key to his room, he’d told him to head upstairs to have a look around and let him know whether Draco liked his new living quarters.

Scorpius’ room was on the floor below, right next to Al’s and down the hallway from James’ and Lily’s rooms. Harry’s room had, at some point, been on the second floor, but he’d relocated to the fourth floor and turned his old bedroom into a larger living room. What had previously been a living room was now Harry’s office, which was adjacent to his own personal library.

Apparently, the prospect of Draco moving into Grimmauld Place had inspired Harry to refurbish half of the house, something Draco found rather amusing. Over the last two weeks, he’d teased Harry about it mercilessly, and for the first week Harry had allowed him to get away with it. These days, he, however, retaliated with his own brand of sass and Draco had quickly discovered that he wasn’t entirely immune to Harry’s cheeky wit. He’d realised it a while back, but had been loath to admit it to himself.

Draco pushed his thoughts about Harry aside and focused back on Astoria. He wasn’t quite sure how long he’d spent up here in his room, but apparently it had been long enough for her to arrive at the house.

“Scorpius is downstairs in the kitchen with Harry and Al,” Astoria said before Draco had the chance to ask whether she’d brought their son along with her. “I meant to drop him off and leave but thought I’d come up to say hello. You don’t mind spending a bit of quality time with Scorp this afternoon, do you?”

Draco shook his head.

“Of course not. I’d love to see him.”

Astoria grinned.

“Great, I haven’t told him you are here yet. He’ll love the surprise.”

“Sneaky.”

Draco smiled.

He pushed his hands into the pockets of his grey jeans and closed his fingers around the six-months sobriety coin in his pocket. Harry had given it to him, a little something tangible to remind him of how much he’d already achieved. Draco often found himself holding it or playing with it when he felt nervous or otherwise out of sorts. He could sense Harry’s magic whenever he touched the coin, and although he had no idea what kind of spell Harry had cast upon the coin, Draco found that holding a visual reminder of his achievement filled him with a sense of calmness.

“Nervous?” Astoria asked.

Draco shook his head.

“Not per se.”

“If it’s too much all in one day, I’ll take him back with me?”

Although her offer was sincere, Astoria’s voice sounded weary. She tried to hide it with a smile, but Draco wasn’t fooled.

“Don’t be silly. I’d be delighted to spend a bit of time with him. Besides, Harry’s here too. He knows how to entertain children far better than I ever will.”

Astoria chuckled softly.

“From what I’ve heard from Scorp, you’ve been doing a rather fine job of entertaining him whenever Harry brings him around.”

Draco pressed his lips together and swallowed past the urge to remind Astoria that their son’s name was Scorpius and not Scorp but couldn’t bring himself to actually say the words. He had the feeling his son’s nickname was here to stay and that he was fighting a losing battle trying to convince anyone, especially Harry, not to use it.

 _I’d better get used to it_ , he thought to himself and smiled at Astoria.

Draco watched her take a step forward. She reached out and placed a hand on his forearm, squeezing it gently. Her hand lingered momentarily, then slowly withdrew and laced her fingers together in front of her body. Astoria parted her lips as if to say something, then hesitated, and closed her mouth again. She remained silent for a few seconds then asked a completely trite question.

“So, uhm, do you like your room?” she asked.

Draco frowned.

He could have sworn she’d been about to say something else. All the signs had been there. He was mildly curious but had no intention of questioning her. If there was something, she wanted to tell him, she would. If she wasn’t ready, Draco wasn’t about to push her.

Instead, he nodded.

“Yes, Harry outdid himself. I’m a bit surprised that I like this modern style, but I guess I’ve changed a lot over the last few months. It’s become much easier to accept change and new things.”

Astoria smiled.

“He’s good for you, you know.”

The warm and affectionate look in her eyes hinted at a veiled meaning behind her words, but Draco tried not to dwell on it. He refused to read anything into her words lest his own feelings about everything Harry had done for him clouded his judgement.

“He is,” he said. “Come, let’s head downstairs. I think I spent enough time up here on my own for one afternoon. It’s time to return to being social.”

“You can stay a while longer if you like. You’ve always enjoyed spending time by yourself.”

Draco suppressed a snort and shook his head.

“Yes, and we all know what me spending too much time alone with too many crazy thoughts turned into. No, it’s alright. I’ve recharged my batteries, and I’m ready to be around people again. It’s all about the balance. You’ve got to get that right, and I’m trying really hard. Salazar, I sound like some sort of self-help book, don’t I?”

Astoria chuckled softly.

“A bit, but in a good way. You’ve really come a long way, Draco. I’m so proud of you.”

Draco felt his cheeks heat and quickly averted his gaze. He knew he’d made a lot of progress but alcohol addiction, like any other compulsive obsession with an unhealthy substance, was a fickle friend. It often pretended to be gone, yet when the balance of life tipped in its favour, it came back with a vengeance, clawing at you when you were most vulnerable and likely to fall victim to its lure.

“Thank you, Astoria.”

Reluctantly letting go of his sobriety coin, Draco pushed his worries about his progress and what would from now on be a life-long battle with addiction away. He pulled his hands out of his jeans pockets and offered his wife his arm ― on paper, she was just that, his wife. In his heart, she’d never been that person, although it seemed that she’d accepted her fate a long time ago for she carried herself with the grace of someone genuinely worthy of the Malfoy name.

Draco wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad thing, but he didn’t want to debate the matter in his head. Not now, and not ever. Astoria gladly accepted his offered arm.

They headed out the door and slowly made their way downstairs.

Astoria walked quite slowly and paused on every landing to catch her breath. It was a rather obvious display of her body’s tiredness, but Draco didn’t pry. Instead, he patiently waited until she was able to continue descending the stairs. She gifted him a grateful smile which he reciprocated with an understanding one. He placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed it gently in a silent attempt to offer his support, but did nothing else to entice her to share her worries with him.

They arrived in the modernised and refurbished cellar kitchen a few minutes later, and the moment Draco stepped over the threshold and called out to Scorpius, he found his thighs engulfed in the tightest embrace ever.

Upon seeing him, Scorpius, who was covered in flour from head to toe and looked more like a snowman than a blond child with pale skin, dropped the dough, he’d been avidly kneading. He jumped off the chair in front of the kitchen island and with no regard about the state of his clothing or hair, he dashed over to Draco at the speed of light.

Astoria had just about enough time to unlink their arms and take a step to the side and Draco silently commended her quick reaction skills.

Swaying a little, Draco somehow managed to remove Scorpius’ hands from around the lower half of his body. They were covered in flour and dough and crouching down, Draco briefly frowned at the state his son was in, then shrugged and pulled Scorpius into an almost bone-crushing hug. Scorpius threw his arms around his neck and lifting him up, Draco held on tightly. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of the instant joy he felt whenever he hugged Scorpius and his son wrapped his arms and legs around him.

“Papa, we’re making your favourite dessert,” Scorpius exclaimed.

Draco frowned.

It was unusual for Scorpius to call him _Papa_ , but he vaguely remembered that Scorpius had often done it when he’d been very young and barely able to talk. The sudden memory conjured up a smile and chased Draco’s frown away.

With Scorpius still in his arms, he glanced around the kitchen, although he wasn’t sure whether one could still call Harry’s kitchen a kitchen. It presently looked like a whole sack of flour had exploded in its centre. Al’s blackish hair had so much flour stuck to it that it looked like it had temporarily turned entirely white and when Draco looked at Harry, who was wearing an apron over his black button-up shirt, he instantly lost his ability to restrain himself and burst out laughing.

Harry’s wild mop of hair had several pieces of dough stuck to it. The apron and the fact that Harry had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, had done absolutely nothing to protect it from getting soiled. A fine dusting of flour-covered most exposed areas of the expensive shirt and Draco shook his head.

“What happened here?” he asked with a chuckle.

“We’re baking.”

Harry’s grin resulted in a second wave of laughter bubbling up from the depths of Draco’s throat, and he did absolutely nothing to remain composed.

“Are you absolutely sure? It looks more like you’ve been trying to cover each other with as much flour as possible.”

Harry shrugged, and Draco watched him reach out and ruffle Al’s hair. A cloud of flour dust rose from it, and Harry promptly began to cough.

“Want to help?” he asked.

Draco’s first reaction to the question was to give Harry a blank look, but before he could summon the words to reject Harry’s offer, Scorpius’ small dough-covered sticky hands cupped his cheeks and squeezed them.

“Please, Papa, it’s fun. You’ll love it.”

Draco wanted to object, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to do so. Harry’s cheeky grin was doing all sorts of funny things to him, and the warmth in his emerald-green eyes made Draco’s tummy flip pleasantly.

And then there was Scorpius, who was clinging to him like a monkey on a mission. Al was usually quiet and somewhat reserved, but when he was around Scorpius, he apparently positively blossomed and, according to Harry, turned into Scorpius’ wild twin.

Draco could clearly sense that his participation was eagerly anticipated and his heart skipped a beat at the thought of getting up to a bit of child-friendly mischief in Harry’s kitchen.

He’d never been the type of person to agree to such nonsense, but in the last several months a lot had changed, and he felt a lot more adventurous than ever before.

“Alright, since I’m outnumbered, I surrender to the will of the masses,” Draco said.

Scorpius cheered so loudly that Draco’s ear rang and Harry grinned broadly. His eyes gleamed like the lights on a Christmas tree, and Draco briefly wondered whether he was really surrounded by two children and an adult. He turned his head sideways and was about to ask Astoria whether she might like to join in as well, but discovered that she no longer stood beside him. He turned back and found the corridor behind him empty as well.

Draco felt the depth of his frown before he’d actively acknowledged his subconsciousness’ decision to furrow his brows. Turning back, he looked at Harry and raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

Harry shook his head and mouthed the word _later_. Swallowing a sigh, Draco nodded and stepping further into the kitchen, he convinced Scorpius to leave his arms and return to the chair, he’d been standing on earlier, so that he could comfortably knead the dough and reach all the ingredients.

“I heard we’re making my favourite dessert?” he asked.

Harry nodded.

“Absolutely. We’re also making chocolate chip biscuits with dried cranberries.”

Draco smirked.

“I see. Are you planning a change of a career, Auror Potter?”

“No, but it entertains the kids, and that’s the main thing. No, Al, stop, we can’t put the chocolate chips in just yet.”

“Anything you’d like me to do?”

“Get down and dirty with us?”

Draco couldn’t help but chuckle, and Harry instantly rolled his eyes and reprimanded him.

“You’ve got a filthy mind, Malfoy.”

“Then don’t make these rotten innuendos.”

Harry glowered at him although his glare lacked intensity and therefore conviction.

“You’ll never be a Slytherin, Potter, no point in trying.”

Draco’s mocking words resulted in Harry grabbing a fistful of flour and without the slightest bit of warning, he dumped in on Draco’s head and rubbed it into his perfectly styled hair.

“Never say never, Malfoy. Now, let’s not debate Hogwarts politics but get on with baking instead.”

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Harry shoved a spoonful of chocolate chips into them before he’d even uttered the first syllable of the scathing remark, he’d been about to make. Settling for an icy death glare, Draco removed the spoon from his mouth and thoughtfully chewed on the chocolate chips.

* * *

* * *

A little over an hour and a half later, a plate with six freshly-made vanilla bean and raspberry tarts stood on a cooling rack in the centre of the kitchen island, and Draco’s mouth refused to stop watering. He licked his lips and barely managed to control the urge to reach for one of the sweet treats, while he waited for Harry to finish making coffee. He’d tried to steal one before, but Harry had threatened him with a wooden spatula, and the idea of Harry whacking him over the head with the cooking utensil did not excite Draco in the slightest. To resist the temptation of his favourite sweet dessert, Draco aimlessly toyed with two bright red oven mittens.

Al and Scorpius were quietly sitting at the kitchen table on the far side of the room, drinking chocolate-flavoured milk and sharing a plate of biscuits from the first batch they’d made. The second and third batch was cooling beside the vanilla bean and raspberry tarts, and a fourth batch was still in the oven and would be finished in approximately two to three minutes. Harry had put him in charge of getting them out of the oven on time.

Unexpectedly, but not entirely unsurprisingly, Draco had thoroughly enjoyed his first attempt at baking. Harry’s seemingly never-ending patience and his clear instructions had ensured that neither the kids nor Draco himself had burnt the house down and they’d spent a perfect afternoon in the kitchen, delighting in domestic chores.

The clinic offered a cooking class, but Draco refused to set foot into the canteen’s kitchen, citing he had no intention of poisoning anyone with his attempts to produce something edible. His therapist had tried to convince him to give cooking a try, but Draco had refused vehemently, and after a short debate they’d settled for the arts and crafts activity. Somehow, Draco couldn’t stand the idea of following a complete stranger’s instructions on how to put together an extravagant four-course meal. Harry, on the other hand, well, Harry had made it seem fun.

Draco wasn’t sure whether the presence of the kids had contributed to Harry continually making jokes and using little wandless spells to entertain Al and Scorpius with, but it had indeed made the whole experience a lot more enjoyable. There was something about using his hands to create a sweet treat to share with others that intrigued Draco, and he couldn’t quite quench the desire to have another go at turning Harry’s kitchen into a baking battlefield.

“Here.”

Harry appeared at his side and offered him a simple black mug, filled nearly to the brim with steaming hot black coffee.

Snapping out of his musings, Draco turned his head, took the offered mug, and smiled. As he reached for the cup’s handle, his and Harry’s fingers briefly brushed together, and Draco tried to ignore the flip of excitement in the pit of his stomach.

“Thanks, Harry,” he said quietly.

He brought the cup up to his lips, but instead of sampling the hot beverage, he gently blew at it a few times, then closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and took a small sip. Harry had sweetened his coffee for him, and the slight acidity of the coffee mixed perfectly well with the sugary aftertaste.

“You’re welcome.”

Opening his eyes again, Draco found Harry smiling at him and blinked.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask, what do you think about your room?”

“I like it. I didn’t quite expect such a modern style, but I feel quite at home up there already, and I haven’t even stayed the night yet.”

Harry nodded.

“Any time you want, Draco, you know that. You and Scorpius are welcome here for as long as you want to stay.”

Draco felt a lump growing in his throat and averting his eyes, he focused on his coffee and took a few sips from it.

He felt Harry’s hand squeeze his shoulder and didn’t quite manage to ignore the temptation to place his hand on top of Harry’s. The warmth of Harry’s hand seeped into his palm and filled him with comfort and strength. Blinking furiously, Draco drank yet more of his coffee. He wanted to thank Harry again, but somehow, that word seemed meaningless.

“I owe you my life,” he whispered instead.

“You owe me nothing, Draco. All I did was to use a bit of force to push you in the right direction. Everything else, you did on your own.”

“I couldn’t have done any of it by myself.”

“And you don’t have to. I made you a promise, and I stand by what I said.”

“I know. Ignore me, I'm all maudlin.”

Sighing softly, Draco pulled his hand away, and forcing a smile, he turned to look at Harry.

“You need a shower,” he said, deliberately changing the topic.

Harry laughed.

“I suppose I do, but I’m afraid if I head upstairs to have one, you’ll eat all the tarts.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“There’s no way I’ll manage six tarts.”

“I wish I could believe that. When it comes to desserts, you’re like a snake, you find a way to make room for them in your belly.”

Draco turned fully around and Harry’s hand slipped off his shoulder.

“Potter…”

“Yes, Malfoy?”

“You’re walking on very thin ice here.”

“I suppose I’d better cast a spell to solidify it a bit more, then.”

Draco momentarily closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, then abruptly set his coffee down, reached for the oven mittens, and giving Harry the cold shoulder, he approached the oven, switched it off and retrieved the baking tray of biscuits. He set the hot tray down on the kitchen counter, and taking one of the mittens off, he tossed it at Harry, who caught it without exercising the slightest bit of effort.

“I might be an Auror now, Malfoy, but I’ve still got those Seeker skills,” he said with a broad grin and a cheeky wink.

“You just wait, Potter. One of these days I’m going to fire an extra potent stinging hex at your arse. You’ll be reading your reports standing for at least a week.”

Harry laughed.

“Kinky.”

Draco rolled his eyes again, reached for his coffee and watched Harry summon two plates and two dessert spoons. He placed a tart on each plate and offered one to Draco, who set his coffee down and immediately indulged in the tart.

“Do you want to stay the night?”

Harry’s question caught Draco by surprise, and since Harry had just dragged his mind into the gutter with a single word, he choked on a piece of crunchy crust and started coughing. It took several minutes and quite a few sips of coffee before he managed to calm down again and when he did, he couldn’t help but glare at Harry.

Harry raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

“What?” he asked innocently.

“Nothing,” Draco said.

He shook his head and shoved a large forkful of raspberry compote into his mouth and swallowed it.

“Perhaps another time? I don’t think I’m ready just yet.”

Harry nodded.

“No problem. Do you want to have dinner here with the boys and me or head back early?”

“I’ll have dinner with you, but please take me back after, OK?”

“No problem. But I can literally just apparate you onto the clinic grounds, and then I’ll have to leave again. There’s no way I can leave those two alone in the house for longer than two minutes. They’re always up to no good.”

Draco chuckled.

“They’ll both end up in Slytherin, Potter, mark my words.”

Harry laughed.

“I’ve had Al pegged for Slytherin since the day he was born, Draco. Gin still thinks he’ll end up in Gryffindor, but she clearly hasn’t heard him and Scorp make plans for when they finally go to Hogwarts. If we’re not careful, those two will end up making plans to take over the world with their mischief. I just pity poor McGonagall. She always thought the Weasley twins were a force to be reckoned with, but with Al and Scorp we’ll end up getting an invitation to her office every other week.”

Draco lifted his coffee mug to his lips and looked at Harry over its rim.

“No, we won’t, Potter. Those two will be in Slytherin, and whatever mischief they’ll get up to, nobody will ever know that they instigated it. Slytherins know how to cover their tracks.”

Harry smiled.

“I suppose you have a point.”

“I always have a point.”

“Eat your tart.”

“Is that the only response you can come up with? Pathetic, Potter, truly pathetic.”

“Eat your tart, or I’ll turn this peaceful afternoon coffee conversation into a food fight. There, that better.”

“It’s against the law to waste vanilla bean and raspberry tarts.”

Harry laughed.

“Is it now?”

Draco nodded.

“Absolutely.”

Harry’s eyes began to sparkle with mischief, and Draco instinctively moved the cooling tray with the remaining four tarts out of Harry’s immediate reach.

“I will have you arrested if you even think about it, Potter.”

Harry raised a curious eyebrow and gave him a dirty smirk.

“With my own handcuffs? Oh yes, officer, please.”

Realising that he’d practically forced Harry to respond this inappropriately, Draco groaned.

“Behave, there are kids in the room.”

“You started it.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did.”

“Nu-huh.”

“Yes.”

“Potter.”

“Malfoy.”

Draco groaned again.

“You know what, I’m just going to shut up, drink my coffee and eat my tart.”

Harry laughed.

“Smart move. And when you are done with that, you can take care of the dishes.”

Draco turned his head and glanced at the massive pile of dishes piling up in the kitchen sink and on the worktop beside it.

He sighed.

“Must I?”

Harry nodded.

“It’s called equal distribution of the domestic workload, keeps everyone happy.”

“Been spending too much time around Granger again, have you, Potter?”

Harry smiled.

Draco glared at the pile of dirty dishes, and for a moment silence settled between them. Feeling his wand hand itch, Draco glanced at it and clenched and unclenched it. The desire to hold a wand did not disappear and chewing on his bottom lip, he dithered for a few more minutes, then asked Harry for his wand.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him but slipped his wand out of his Auror-issued forearm holster and offered it to him.

“Here you are.”

Draco wrapped his fingers around the hilt and holding on to the unfamiliar wand, he simply let its energy flow into him, relishing in the sensations of it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a wand or cast a spell, but this felt good. Remnants of Harry’s powerful magic clung to the core of his wand and Draco shuddered inwardly. He’d seen what Harry could do without a wand, and he didn’t quite dare to imagine what he could do with one. Not that Harry really needed a wand. He had excellent control of his magic and didn’t need to channel it through the core of a wand to tame and manage it. His magic obeyed him at all times.

“Do you want to cast?” Harry asked.

The question pulled Draco out of his thoughts, and he consciously noted that Harry’s wand hadn’t outright rejected him. He contemplated the problem for a second, then shook his head and gently placed Harry’s wand on top of the kitchen island. He was about to let go of it entirely and withdraw his hand when Harry put his own wand hand on top of it.

“Try.”

“It won’t work.”

“You don’t know that.”

“My core is too damaged.”

Draco sighed and tried to pull his hand away. To his surprise, Harry tightened his grasp and didn’t let him.

“Try,” he urged.

Draco shook his head.

“It’s fine, Harry. I’ve not used magic in so long, I’m used to it not working.”

Harry took a step closer, and Draco felt his breathing hitch. Without letting go of his hand, Harry stepped behind him and standing so close that Draco could feel the warmth of Harry’s body seep into his back, he lifted the wand off the counter and closed his fingers fully around Draco’s.

“Try. See if you can make that mitten levitate.”

Draco chuckled.

“That’s a first-year spell.”

“You’ve got to start somewhere,” Harry said.

His voice was so close to Draco’s ear that it made him shudder and unable to resist, he leant back just a little and relaxed against Harry’s front.

“Try.”

Harry encouraged him once more and closing his eyes, Draco focused on the spell, concentrated on the words and the magic within him. He felt it come to life, felt it pulse through his veins and after a few deep breaths, he opened his eyes, and fixed them on the red mitten, then mumbled the very familiar incantation.

A strange sort of yellowish mist flowed from the tip the wand, and the mitten jerked an inch or two to the side but did not float into the air and hover there.

Draco let out a sigh and straightened up.

“Told you it wouldn’t work.”

He pulled his hand out from underneath Harry’s and let go of the wand.

“Ah, but you’re wrong. It did work. You just proved to me that while your addiction severely damaged your magical core, you’ve not severed it completely. There’s still something there, and it’s healing. It’ll need more time, and looking into talking to a healer might be a good idea, but you can still do magic.”

Draco remained silent. He supposed that Harry had a point but the idea of doing magic again suddenly terrified him and abruptly moving away from Harry, he brought a bit of distance between them and shook his head.

“No. It’s OK, I’m alright. I don’t need magic.”

“Don’t be silly, you’ll get it back.”

Feeling a bit frustrated, though unsure of where the feeling was coming from, Draco glared at Harry.

“You’re not listening to me. I don’t need magic. It’s best that my magical core doesn’t heal. It’s safer that way.”

Turning way, Draco headed for the door and left the kitchen. He headed up the stairs to the ground floor and vanished inside the front room. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stood in front of the window and stared out onto the quiet street below.

A few minutes later, Harry called his name from the doorway, but Draco didn’t turn around.

“I’m sorry I upset you. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Letting out a soft sigh, Draco turned his head and looked at Harry, who had yet to enter the room.

“Care to share what’s troubling you all of a sudden?”

Draco shook his head.

“Not now, Harry, please.”

“Alright. I won’t push, whenever you’re ready to talk, I’ll be there to listen.”

“Thank you.”

Draco breathed the words more than actually speaking them aloud and turned back to look outside the window.

“I’ll give you a few minutes alone. Forget about the dishes, I’ll take care of them. I’m sure I can enlist Al and Scorp to help me out.”

Draco bit his bottom lip and shook his head. He inhaled deeply, then slowly turned around.

“No, Harry. I’d like to do the dishes. It’s only fair.”

“Are you sure?”

Draco nodded.

“Yes. Let me.”

“OK.”

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	9. Scorpius (And A Confession Or Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long gap between the last chapter and this one wasn't on purpose, I promise. It's just that this story is so vastly different from my other long story that the writing process differs. I need to be calm and relaxed for this one. Generally speaking, being calm and relaxed is the best approach when doing any sort of writing, but it's different with this story. There are more emotions to consider, the characters are not as established as when you're writing a sequel to something.
> 
> Nevertheless, I've got a wicked idea for where to take this story, and I've dropped a few hints in this chapter. At least I hope I have. Or perhaps I've just infuriated you by taking the **UST** to the next level. Then again, apparently I'm the _Queen of Slow Burn_ , and so I best honour that title and give you a bit of something to thirst for and lust after.
> 
> Let the fun begin...
> 
> Love,  
> Selly x

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* * *

Harry knocked on the light wooden door to Draco’s room and poked his head through the gap between the door and the frame. Draco wore a pair of light-grey jeans and a black long-sleeved jumper. The clothes fitted him perfectly, and Harry stole more than a furtive glance. He took a moment to fully recognise the transformation Draco had gone through over the last few months. He’d most definitely filled out a bit, and the additional pounds complimented him in all the right places. Harry had to consciously stop himself from licking his lips and decided that now was neither the time nor the place for such lustrous thoughts.

“May I come in?”

Draco stopped scribbling in his black leather-bound B5-sized journal and looked up.

He smiled.

It was a welcoming smile. The one you might give an old friend when they, unexpectedly, decided to visit that warmed Harry’s heart and some of his bitterness about his horrid day at work evaporated into thin air.

“Since when do you ask for permission to barge into my private quarters?” Draco asked.

Harry chuckled.

“Point taken,” he said.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside. Closing the door behind him and casually leant back against it.

“I thought I’d surprise you with some manners,” he said with a relaxed shrug of his shoulders.

Gin had owled him around lunchtime to let him know that she planned to take the kids to the Burrow for dinner. She’d invited him to come by whenever he finished work, and he’d seriously considered it, but this afternoon’s overly verbose and extremely tiresome Department Heads meeting had thwarted his plans to spend a bit of quality time with his children.

After exiting the meeting room, one glance at his wristwatch had told him that all three of his rascals would be going to bed very soon. Even though he missed his children dearly and desperately wanted to kiss them goodnight showing up at seven-thirty meant thoroughly disrupting their evening routine, and that wasn’t something Harry liked to do if he could at all help it. As it were, James, Al, and Lily were already hyper enough, and there was absolutely no need to give them even more of an incentive to go completely crazy with unquenchable excitement.

After dithering in one of the long corridors somewhere between the meeting room and his office for a few minutes, Harry had eventually decided to pay Draco a visit. Rather than wasting time and going home first to change into a comfortable pair of worn jeans, runners, a shirt and his favourite leather jacket, he’d apparated straight over to the clinic, still dressed in his Auror robes and uniform.

Draco casually toyed with a Muggle pen and gave him a slow and deliberate once-over. There was a strange sort of look in his silvery-grey eyes, one that stabbed Harry, quite pleasantly so, somewhere deep in the centre of his chest. The mien in Draco’s eyes was a mixture of silent appreciation and intense thirst. It wasn’t the ordinary kind of need one felt when one’s mouth was parched, because one had been too distracted with something or other to remember to drink a decent amount of water, but rather the kind of exigency that was driven by pure, and shameless, desire.

Harry felt a pleasant tingle of something fiery trickle down his spine and seep through his nerve endings into various other parts of his body. Adjusting his stance, he undid the clasp that held his scarlet Auror robes together, and pulling them off his shoulders, he folded them neatly over his right forearm.

In an instant, Draco schooled his features and hid behind a mask of overly casual indifference.

He stretched his long legs and wriggled his bare toes.

Harry watched him snap his journal shut, place it on the bed beside him, and tap it gently with his long pale fingers; fingers Harry suddenly want to see wrapped around his― He forced himself not to finish that thought and focused on the devilishly handsome smirk curled around the edges of Draco’s mouth. Shifting from one foot to the other, Harry tried his hardest to act thoroughly nonchalant, but it was a less than mediocre attempt.

“And I thought you came to arrest me, _Auror_ Potter.”

Harry pressed his lips tightly together.

He was quite sure that Draco had purposefully accentuated his title in precisely that way. It bordered on indecent and made his stomach flip repeatedly. He tried his hardest to resist the urge to respond to Draco’s deliberate attempt to provoke him, but when Draco baited him with a raised eyebrow and a lopsided smile, Harry threw caution into the wind and made a flirtatious remark of his own.

“Wouldn’t you like that, _Malfoy_.”

Draco raised his shoulders slightly, then let them drop again.

His grin was positively wicked.

“Perhaps,” he said.

His response gave next to nothing away.

 _Good game_ , Harry thought, impressed.

He held Draco’s gaze for a few seconds, then pushed away from the door, and walked across the room. On his way, he left his robes at the foot of Draco’s bed, then slumped into the comfortable chair in front of his writing desk which was cluttered with an assortment of coloured cardboard paper from an earlier arts and crafts class. Harry had no idea what the current topic was, but presently it didn’t look like much, though that didn’t have to mean anything.

Leaning back, Harry placed his hands behind his head and laced his fingers together, then unpretentiously rested his left ankle just above his right knee.

His formal clothes and his casual posture were now at complete odds with one another.

He noticed, and delighted, the way Draco’s eyes followed his body’s movement, and resolutely swallowed past the hunger, he could feel spreading through his body.

It had started somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach and was now slowly flaring out, grasping at every inch of him it could reach, trying to possess him.

Harry fought back, and after a little internal struggle, he regained control over his burning desire to try and seduce Draco.

 _Not the time and not the place_ , he reminded himself.

He tossed his growing attraction right back into the cage, it had crawled out of, and slamming the door closed, he turned the key as many times as he possibly could and wished he could cast a charm at the lock to render it unusable.

To distract himself further, Harry helped himself to one of the chocolate chip and cranberry biscuits from the plate that stood next to the table lamp and bit off a large chunk of the sweet treat. They were the biscuits he and Draco had baked earlier in the week. With Al’s and Scorp’s help, of course.

Since this afternoon’s meeting had, quite unnecessarily so, run for much longer than needed, he hadn’t had time to have a proper meal for dinner. As a direct result of that, he was now absolutely starving.

“You’re in a good mood today,” he pointed out after he’d finished about three-quarters of the biscuit.

Draco smiled.

“I actually am,” he said.

“I was hoping you might be.”

Draco looked at him with furrowed brows.

“Why?”

“I’d like to talk.”

“About what?”

Draco looked little suspicious, but beyond that, he remained relaxed.

“Your magic.”

Harry deliberately lowered his voice a little and softened his tone a little.

It wasn’t because he was worried that someone might overhear them talk about magic, but rather because he was conscious of what Draco’s reaction might be. A few days ago, when Draco had visited Grimmauld Place to inspect his new room, his response to still not being able to perform magic had been less than favourable. Granted, he currently didn’t possess a wand and was, therefore, unable to practise, but for the sake of his own peace of mind, Harry wanted to have this conversation with Draco. He wanted to make sure that Draco was alright and that his inability to perform magic wasn’t eating him up from the inside.

While Draco was able to harness his magic and consciously channel it through the core of a wand, his alcohol addiction had damaged his magical core so severely, that he still couldn’t perform even the simplest of spells. Draco had told him that he was fine without magic and that it didn’t matter to him, but Harry struggled to believe those words. He considered them to be meaningless words of comfort, something Draco kept telling himself to try and lessen the hurt, Harry knew he felt deep inside.

Draco was a powerful and extremely talented pureblood wizard. He had a solid magical core, but over a decade of constant alcohol abuse had wreaked havoc to it. Magical cores were delicate and temperamental, highly susceptible to emotions and external harm and Harry worried that not addressing the issue and letting it fester might lead to worse problems in the future.

Since this clinic was a Muggle facility, magic was one of the few topics Draco couldn’t discuss during his sessions with his therapist or at group meetings. For this reason, Harry felt like it was his duty to allow Draco to talk freely about that particular aspect of his life. He cared about Draco’s wellbeing and wanted to ensure that he was mentally able to deal with everything life threw at him. Harry didn’t consider himself almighty, but he wanted to do everything in his power to stop Draco from thinking that drinking himself into oblivion was the only way he could deal with his problems.

“Must we? Talk about it, I mean.”

Draco’s voice was low and soft, and he sounded a little subdued.

It felt a little like Harry had hit a nerve. He had inadvertently touched on a subject that caused Draco discomfort, and although, Draco concealed his emotions exceptionally well, he didn’t manage, or perhaps he consciously wasn’t trying hard enough, to hide all of it.

Still, Harry felt that Draco did a far better job at hiding his irritation over his inability to perform magic than at masking his feelings for him. Feelings, Harry knew, that extended far beyond friendship.

He shook his head.

“I’m not going to force you, but I think it would be good for you to talk about it.”

Draco sighed.

Harry watched him toy with his Muggle pen. He twisted and twirled it between his fingers, not because he was nervous, but because it stopped him from nervously clasping and wringing his hands together.

Instead of pushing Draco into having this slightly uncomfortable conversation, Harry decided to change the subject.

“Al got an Outstanding Performance Award at school this week. He did exceptionally well at maths, all thanks to Scorp’s patience.”

Draco instantly stopped fiddling with his pen and his face lid up brightly. There was a proud sparkle in his eyes, and Harry smiled.

“He’s a smart boy, Scorp is,” he whispered.

Harry chuckled.

Draco frowned at him.

“You said Scorp.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Thanks ever so much, Potter, now I’m butchering my own son’s name. You know, I named him Scorpius for a reason.”

“You did?”

Draco nodded.

“Care to share?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“I promise I won’t.”

Harry removed his hands from behind his head and pressed the palm of his left hand flat against the centre of his chest.

Draco held his gaze for several seconds, then inclined his head in silent agreement.

“Very well. How much do you know about Greek mythology?”

“Honestly? Not much. I remember Firenze teaching us a bit about the different star constellations, and while I found the topic interesting, as you may remember, I was rather distracted at the time.”

Draco smiled.

“Professor Firenze was a great Divination teacher, though I must admit I didn’t appreciate his classes much when I was younger. I wish I had. Anyway, Scorpius is one of the oldest constellations in the sky, I thought it was a great way of indirectly honouring the Malfoy family line. If you look at a star chart, you’ll find that Scorpius sits right on the ecliptic, the celestial pathway of the sun over a year.”

“That’s how astrologers determine one’s horoscope sign, isn’t it?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded.

“Yes, your sign is the constellation the sun is in at the moment of your birth.”

“So, you named Scorpius to honour the Malfoy family line?”

Draco shook his head.

“That’s only one of the reasons. According to Greek mythology, Apollo sent The Scorpion to attack the mighty hunter Orion because he was jealous of the attention that Artemis showed to Orion. There was a great battle, and The Scorpion eventually killed Orion, but Apollo felt ashamed for his actions and together with Artemis, he hung Orion’s body prominently in the night sky. They later also placed The Scorpion in the sky but deliberately hung him opposite Orion, so as Scorpius rises in the east, Orion sets in the west; an arrangement that prevented a continuation of the battle among the stars.”

“You named your son to eternally remind you of Voldemort’s mistakes and your own?”

Draco flinched at hearing the name but nodded his head.

“Yes. Did you know that in Chinese mythology, the stars of Scorpius are part of a larger pattern called the Azure Dragon of the East? They represent spring, a new beginning, and include the constellations we call Sagittarius, Libra and Virgo. The night Scorpius was born, was one of the few nights that I was stone-cold sober, hence my ability to make a conscious effort to give my son something special. Scorpius was meant to be my new beginning, I didn’t and still don’t want his precious mind spoiled by outdated pureblood beliefs, and I never want him to think he’s better than anyone or that anyone is better than him. After Scorpius’ birth I really thought I’d manage to get my act together. I wanted to get sober so badly. A fine job I did of fucking that up, I wasted six precious years of my son’s life drinking myself into complete oblivion.”

Draco averted his eyes and stared at the pen hands. He didn’t fiddle around with it but emitted a long, deep, audible breath of air, and let his shoulders slump forward, expressing his regret over his own actions.

Harry removed his ankle from his knee, and getting to his feet, he moved to sit down on the edge of Draco’s bed, then reached out and placed his hand above Draco’s, squeezing it firmly enough to draw Draco’s attention.

Draco lifted his head again and gave him a weak smile.

“You’re fixing it now, Draco. You can’t change the past. What’s done is done, there’s no use to regret a bad choice. However, you are in control of the future, your future, and while it took a bit of force to get you in here, you’ve been doing absolutely everything to turn your life around.”

Draco’s smile grew a little stronger.

He twisted his hand around, and as their palms touched, Harry linked their fingers together and squeezed tightly.

“I couldn’t do this without you, Harry Potter,” Draco whispered.

Harry smiled.

“You don’t have to. I told you I’m not going anywhere, no matter how many times you’ll tell me to fuck off. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now.”

Draco chuckled softly.

“You know, Potter, turns out I really don’t mind being stuck with you.”

Harry laughed.

“Well, that’s good. Although it’s not really like you have a choice, you know.”

“Don’t want one. Not about this.”

Harry squeezed Draco’s hand again, offering physical reassurance rather than verbal. When he attempted to pull his hand back, Draco tightened his grip and shook his head.

“Please,” he murmured.

Harry merely smiled in response and shuffling a little closer, he rested his other hand on Draco’s thigh, just above his knee. He felt the soft tremor that flowed through Draco and relished in their closeness. As their eyes locked, he briefly contemplated leaning closer and finding out exactly how soft Draco’s lips were, but after a short struggle with his own desires, he stubbornly pushed the idea out of his mind.

 _Not the time, not the place_ , he reminded himself and wondered whether he should move away again, but while his and Draco’s proximity wasn’t helping to keep him focused, he couldn’t find the resolve to pull either one of his hands away.

“Did you know that at the fiery heart of the Scorpion lies the brilliant star Antares? It shines with a distinctive yellow-orange glow. It comes from the Greek phrase ‘ _against Ares_ ’ which is the Greek version of the god of war. The Romans called him Mars.”

Harry chuckled softly.

“You should have just named him Pax.”

Draco grinned.

“The Latin word for peace, eh?”

Harry nodded.

“Doesn’t work. Scorpius is anything but peaceful. He’s a wild child, though I don’t know where he gets it from.”

“He’s your alter ego and everything you wanted to be when you were young.”

“That’s profound. I like it. You know, Potter, I’m going to do everything in my power to give this boy the best childhood he’s ever had. I swear, I’m going to be the best dad in the world. He deserves it.”

“Grand promises. Just be there for Scorp when he needs you, Draco, and spend time with him. Children are simple, all they want is love and attention.”

Draco laughed.

“And chocolate.”

Harry sniggered.

“And chocolate,” he affirmed.

A moment of silence settled over them, and Draco turned his head to glance out of the window. Harry followed his gaze. The sky had darkened considerably since his arrival, and pitch-black clouds now obscured it. A flash of lightning zig-zagged across the heavens, and a moment later the deafeningly loud rumbles and cracks of thunder could be heard and more lightning lid up the black evening sky. Seconds after that, the clouds parted and a torrential downpour pelted against the window.

“I want to go outside,” Draco whispered.

Harry turned his head at precisely the same moment as Draco did and as their eyes locked a third flash of lightning struck and the light in the room flickered, then went off. They sat in complete darkness, barely able to see much more of each other than a vague outline, and feeling bold, Harry moved off the bed and tugged on Draco’s hand.

“Come on,” he said.

He pulled Draco off the bed, out of his room and down the dark corridor and into the common room. There, he opened the door to the garden, which led out into the park and they stepped outside into the gushing rain. It was one steady stream of water and within seconds, and before they’d taken much more than three steps, they were both soaked to the bone.

Draco threw his head back, squeezed his eyes tightly shut and laughed.

It was a loud and unrestrained laugh full of a childish sort of carefreeness, and Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Draco looked beautiful like this. His clothes clung tightly to his frame, and the rain plastered his shoulder-long hair to his cheeks and neck. He laughed and laughed and turned in a full circle and when he stopped and looked directly at him, Harry had to move his hands behind his back and clench them into tight fists to stop himself from shoving Draco up against the nearest wall and kissing him.

His heart thumped madly in his chest, and the butterflies in his stomach fluttered frantically and like they attempted to break free of their cage. For a few moments, Harry thought they might manage, and when Draco reached out and placed his hands on his shoulders and squeezed, Harry’s knees buckled a little, and he inhaled sharply, swallowing some of the unrelenting rain.

The cold rainwater went straight down his windpipe and coughing, he needed Draco to pat his back to stop him from choking, and it took him several minutes to calm down properly.

“OK?” Draco asked once he’d stopped coughing quite so much.

Harry cleared his throat and nodded.

“Yes.”

The lights inside had come back on, and Draco smiled, then abruptly and unexpectedly pulled him into a fierce hug.

Harry unclenched his fists and reciprocated.

They hugged for several seconds, then Draco pulled away, and his expression turned sombre.

“I miss it, Harry,” he whispered quietly.

Harry could barely hear his words over the bucketload of rain that was falling from the sky, but for some reason, he instantly knew what Draco was referring to.

“Magic,” he stated.

Draco nodded.

“I miss it so much. It’s like this intense hunger inside of me. Sometimes it’s just as strong as my desperate need for a drink, and I don’t know what to do with myself when it the sensations hit. My wand hand starts to itch, and I can’t keep still. I have to pace the room or walk around the grounds for a solid hour just to take the edge off, and even then I go over every single spell, I ever learnt, and I recall the incantation and the wand moments and my hand copies that movement whether I want to or not. I want to cast so badly it physically hurts right here.”

Draco pressed his hand to his chest.

Harry smiled.

“I’m no expert, but I spoke to one, and he said that’s your magical core trying to repair itself.”

Draco arched an eyebrow at him.

Harry instantly looked a bit sheepish.

“Gin works with a bunch of really brilliant Healers over at St Mungo’s Hospital. She recommended one of the professors and I spoke to him the other day. I mentioned no names, but after what happened with you and my wand at the house, I was curious.”

Draco nodded.

“What does he think?”

“Pretty much what I told you, though he refused to be definite about it and said he can’t diagnose a patient he’s never met and might not even exist.”

Draco grinned.

“You pretended I’m a figment of your imagination, then?”

Harry laughed.

“In a manner of speaking,” he said.

“Do you want to meet with the Healer? He’s trustworthy, I can assure you that. Whatever you tell him falls under Healer/patient confidentiality.”

Draco hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded.

“I know.”

He shook his head immediately afterwards.

“Not yet, Harry, I’m not ready.”

Harry smiled reassuringly, hoping it would put Draco’s mind at rest.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Honest truth?”

Harry nodded.

“Always.”

“I’m terrified. I’m terrified to do magic again. I honestly can’t remember when I last cast a spell. It’s been years.”

A cheeky sort of smirk crept onto Harry’s face before he could stop it.

“I know.”

Draco frowned.

“A couple days ago at my house. You weren’t entirely successful, but you cast a spell.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Potter, you are maddeningly infuriating.”

Harry laughed.

“So? You don’t really mind. It’s just pretence.”

“That’s what you think?”

“Correction, it’s what I know, Malfoy.”

Draco glowered at him.

Harry only laughed harder.

“You don’t terrify me, Draco.”

“You just wait, Potter, you just wait.”

Harry arched an eyebrow at him.

“For what exactly?”

“You’ll find out.”

Harry clapped his hands together.

“Uh, it’s a surprise. I’m excited.”

“Gryffindork.”

Harry chuckled.

“C’mon. Let’s get back inside, or we’ll catch a cold.”

Draco nodded, and they both turned towards the door. He reached for the handle, but paused halfway and turned to look at Harry.

“You don’t have a change of clothing.”

Harry glanced at his soaked Auror uniform and sighed.

“True. I’ll just nick something of yours.”

Draco looked at him with a wicked sparkle twinkling in his silvery-grey eyes.

“What if I don’t let you?”

Harry grinned.

Two could play this game.

“Then you’ll be forced to see me in all my naked glory,” he said.

For a split-second, Draco gave him a positively lascivious once-over, then shook his head, turned towards the door to the common room and dragged it open. He stepped over the threshold and Harry followed him.

They crossed the room in silence, then walked down the corridor back to Draco’s room. Harry’s department-issued heavy black dragonhide Auror boots squeaked on the linoleum floor beneath his soles.

“You can have my bathrobe,” Draco said just before they reached his room.

Harry laughed.

“Then I demand a hot shower too.”

“Only if you bring my favourite tarts on Sunday.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Malfoy.”

“I do, and I’m not ashamed of it.”

“Fine, I’ll bake you some more tarts for your insatiable sweet tooth.”

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	10. Fatherly Duties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well...
> 
> What do you know, between parents' day prep and the kids writing exams and a whole lot of other RL stress you really don't want to know about, I managed to write a 6K chapter. *pads self on the back* This deserves some praise, I am mightly proud of myself.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this little offering.
> 
> I had all but a general idea for this chapter (and it most definitely wasn't supposed to get this long) but as with almost everything I write, the chapter took on a life of its own and started to demand this and that and because I'm such an obedient writer, I indulged it completely.
> 
> Love,  
> Selly

* * *

* * *

Finishing the chapter and turning the page, Draco threw his right leg over his left one and rested his copy of _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ in his lap. To hold the book in front of him open, he pressed the flat of his hand against its centre and smiled down at the truly mesmerising and enchanting words printed on the slightly yellowish pages before him. It took him quite a bit of effort to drag his eyes away from the colourful and flowery language ― it was just too easy to get lost in the story.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed softly, then relaxed back into his turquoise wingback armchair, and flexed his socked toes before curling them into the light-grey soft shaggy rug beneath his feet. He really couldn’t remember how many times he’d already read Dorian Gray’s life story, but each time he re-read the book, he still savoured every sentence, devoured its wisdom, and repeatedly forgot about everything and everyone around him while he dove into the pages of this particular majesty of Oscar Wilde’s work. Those three amazing characters, Wilde had created, never failed to astound him, and whenever he picked up the book, it ignited his undying love for complex characters with actual depth. Theirs was a story worth telling, over and over again.

He continuously wondered and questioned the lives and decisions of Basil Hallward, Lord Henry, Dorian Gray, and even Sibyl Vane. Dorian’s tale and Lord Henry’s influence over him captivated him time and time again. The book was one of the few Muggle classics, Draco loved and had loved since he’d read the book for the first time at the tender age of fifteen. Back then he’d hidden it underneath his pillow and only read it after drawing the curtains tightly around his bed.

He often identified with Dorian, who was one of the most intriguing book characters he’d ever had the pleasure to read about. Dorian’s innocence and naivety often reminded Draco of a younger version of himself, while Lord Henry always made him think of his father. Lucius’ influence had corrupted and tainted him from the very beginning; before he’d even been old enough to really understand the difference between what was right and what was wrong, and by the time he’d had come to the conclusion that his father’s effect on him, it had been too late to defy Lucius Malfoy. For as long as he could remember, he’d always been fascinated by his father’s charming wit, his ability to compliment people and wrap them around his little finger. Like Lord Henry, Lucius was a man possessed of wrong, fascinating, poisonous, delightful theories. To this day, he still was a charming talker, a famous wit, and a brilliant intellect with the astonishing ability to seductively lead a conversation ― at the height of Lucius’ prowess, falling under his spell had been all too easy.

Draco pressed his lips tightly together. He still hated the dark way his father, his aunt Bellatrix, and Voldemort had controlled him, and loathed remembering those dark times.

Growing up, he’d blindly followed his father’s guidance, believed everything he said, and thirsted for power and influence over others. He’d always longed to be surrounded by a throng of people who adored him and followed him blindly, just like his father and his aunt had followed the Dark Lord. His mother had been the only sensible person, and he’d always felt that she didn’t honestly believe in Voldemort’s desire to create a magical world that consisted only of purebloods. Sadly, his father and Bellatrix had made sure that his mother never spoke out of turn.

Of course, there’d come a time when he’d wondered whether he was actually doing the right thing, and not long after, he’d started to profoundly resent the fact that his fellow Slytherins didn’t once question any of his decisions but obeyed him, no matter what he asked of them. There had been times where he’d been tempted to order them to jump off the Astronomy Tower, just to see test their loyalty. He’d never done it, but the desire had been there, and it had been strong.

Thankfully, once the doubts had crept in, there’d been no stopping them. It hadn’t taken long for him to realise that everything Voldemort stood for was despicable and heinous, and he’d desperately craved a chance to redeem himself, yet confessing his sins had given him persistent nightmares. His inner struggle, and the indefatigable feeling that he’d lost his way a long time ago, had eventually led him down a very dark path, and instead of putting up a fight, he’d subdued the longing to become a better version of himself and fuelled his depression with alcohol, losing himself in an addiction that had nearly killed him.

Somehow, alcohol had become Basil’s painting of Dorian. The worse his addiction got, the more he cursed himself and the harder it got to find a way back out of the devilish labyrinth, he’d wandered into. Wandless, and therefore without the ability to cast a simple Wand-Lighting Charm, he’d stumbled around in the dark and eventually given up altogether. He’d tried his hardest to resist being bad but it had become damn near impossible.

Drinking had become a sin he’d committed over and over again, and even though he’d continuously found himself at a crossroads, he’d not been able to stop himself. Do the right thing and get sober or give in to the addictive pull of alcohol? Was having a third or fourth glass of Firewhiskey with his dinner really _that_ bad? Wasn’t it all just a bit of fun and way of indulging in the sweet pleasures of life? After all, being the sole heir of the Malfoy family fortune afforded him the luxury to enjoy a particular way of living that was beyond the grasp of most of the people around him.

Tonight, was the first time in a very long time that he’d reached for his old and tattered copy of _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever read Oscar Wilde’s masterpiece while stone-cold sober, and even though he’d only read a couple of chapters, he couldn’t help but feel forced to, once again, face his own demons and weaknesses.

Dorian’s slow descent into hell caused him to acknowledge his own vices and fears.

In short, it gave him pause and compelled him to ponder all of his life choices.

In the words of Dorian Gray, he wanted to be good, and for Scorpius’ sake, he couldn’t bear the idea of his soul being hideous. He didn’t want to be at the mercy of his emotions and darkness, he didn’t know how to control. He wanted light and wanted to use all of his feelings, wanted to enjoy them and dominate them.

Draco finally managed to stop staring into space and glancing over to the bed, he smiled at Scorpius’ sleeping form.

 _My everything, the best thing that’s ever happened to me_ , he thought fondly.

Scorpius had fallen asleep on the other wingback armchair some two hours ago, exhausted after a day of wild play with Al and Harry’s oldest son, James. They’d wreaked havoc around the house all afternoon, and as a result of their fun, a vast collection of Scorpius’ toys lay scattered all over the floor. He’d told Scorpius to clean up after himself once he’d finished drinking his milk and brushed his teeth, but the wretch of a boy had instantly dozed off on him.

Despite the mess, Draco didn’t feel even just a little annoyed. He thought that he’d missed far too much of Scorpius’ childhood to tell him off for playing to his heart’s content.

Harry was far stricter with his own kids, and they knew not to leave the place a mess, but not even the prospect of having to spend the next hour tidying his room to restore a resemblance of order to it managed to put a damper on Draco’s good mood. He smiled to himself, and reaching for the silver, snake-shaped bookmark from the small coffee table beside him, he placed it between the pages and snapped the book closed.

Getting up, Draco placed Dorian’s fateful tale on top of his armchair and stretched his sleepy muscles, then moved across the room.

For a moment, he longed for his magic, but forced himself to dismiss that craving almost instantly and in order to distract himself, he bent down and began to pick up Scorpius’ toys, and carrying them over to the large wooden trunk, he kept inside his room here at Grimmauld Place especially for that purpose.

About halfway through tidying up after his rascal of a son, he turned his head and glancing towards the door, he paused when he spotted Harry casually leaning back against the doorframe to his room. Harry wore his favourite pair of navy-blue distressed jeans and a black graphic t-shirt that proclaimed he was the right stuff ― for some reason, Draco couldn’t find any fault with that statement.

He wholeheartedly agreed.

Weirdly enough, he also noted that Harry was wearing neither socks nor shoes. Harry had pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers and straightening up, Draco looked straight at him.

A devilish sort of smirk turned the corners of Harry’s mouth up. It was just a small pouting of the lips really, but combined with the slight narrowing of those intense sparkling green eyes, and the little tilt of his head, it made Draco’s stomach flip pleasantly.

 _Subtle, yet infuriatingly smug_ , he thought, and placing a handful of Scorpius’ toys inside the trunk, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asked.

Harry drew his shoulders up and let them drop again.

“Couple of minutes give or take,” he said.

Draco couldn’t help but chuckle in amusement.

“Is lurking around open doors a habit of yours, Potter?”

Harry gave him a lopsided grin.

“Only when something is interesting going on, or my kids are in the house, in which case it’s called taking safety measures to ensure the place doesn’t burn to the ground.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

He chose to ignore the second part of Harry’s statement in its entirety.

“And, pray tell, what exactly is so interesting about me cleaning up after my wild child of a son?”

Harry shrugged again.

He pushed away from the doorframe and dragging his hands out from the pockets of his jeans, he walked into the room, carefully navigating around the few toys, Draco had yet to pick up.

“You’re always interesting, Draco Malfoy,” he said.

Draco furrowed his brows.

He picked a fluffy brown teddy bear up off the floor and toyed with it.

“You’re full of it, Potter,” he said.

Harry smirked.

There was a wicked sort of glint in his eyes.

“I wish,” he said.

Harry held his gaze for several moments, and swallowing hard, Draco momentarily struggled to keep his composure.

Something fierce fuelled a burning desire inside of him, and it pooled low in his groin, threatening to increase the length and girth of his cock, and give him a raging hard-on.

He quickly glanced at the sleeping form of his son, and taking a deep breath, he flung the teddy bear at Harry, who, of course, caught it single-handedly.

“My son’s sleeping less than five feet away, Potter, you absolute tosser.”

Harry laughed.

It was a soft and warm laugh, and it was infectious.

Draco didn’t want to join him.

He wanted to glare at Harry and curse him for that decidedly sexual innuendo, but he couldn’t help it.

He felt his lips curl upward, and before he knew it, he was chuckling softly.

“Then join me in the kitchen, we’ll have a sweet cuppa tea.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Like you’ll voluntarily drink sweet tea.”

“I will for you.”

Harry’s prompt response threw Draco a little, and his heart skipped a beat, but he decided not to let it unsettle him completely.

Instead, he abandoned picking up the remainder of Scorpius’ toys and crawling onto the bed, he ensured that Scorp was properly tugged in, then placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

He climbed off the bed again, and motioning for Harry to lead the way, he silently followed him along the corridor, down the stairs, and into the kitchen, where two mugs of steaming hot tea were waiting for them on the table.

“Earl Grey with a ton of sugar,” Harry said.

“I made it especially for you.”

Draco smiled softly, almost shyly.

On the inside, however, his heart was thumping wildly.

Harry always remembered all the little things, offhanded comments, casual remarks, and weird stuff he did without rhyme or reason.

Draco took a seat at the table, and wrapping his hands around the large black mug, he lowered his head slightly, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply.

High-quality Earl Grey was blended with oil of bergamot, a plant that was most known for its slightly bitter citrus smell ― floral and green with a bit of orange tartness.

A classic Earl Grey tasted both lemony and malty.

Dark, smooth-tasting teas, like Keemun or Assam, had a malty flavour profile, tipped with notes of honey, caramel, toffee, nuts and wood, and while Draco loved his coffee, exquisite tea was most definitely one of his weaknesses.

While one usually didn’t add a ton of sugar to such an excellent blend of tea, Draco simply couldn’t resist the sweetness. In his younger years, and especially during his time at Hogwarts, he’d had a terrible sweet tooth, but during the height of his alcohol addiction, he hadn’t especially cared for it.

Now that he was working hard to remain sober, a bit of sugar here and there, a piece of chocolate, a biscuit, or a tart, brought him joy.

He was about to take a sip when he felt Harry’s hand on his shoulder.

Pausing, he kept his eyes closed and relished in the warm and, by now, familiar touch.

“Three spoonfuls of sugar,” Harry said.

As he spoke, Draco couldn’t help but wish for Harry’s lips to press against the shell of his ear while he whispered the words to him.

At the thought, a small shudder surged through him, and almost automatically lifting his hand, he placed it on top of Harry’s, giving it a light squeeze.

“Sometimes I can’t help but think there’s nobody who knows me as well as you do.”

Harry chuckled in response to his confession, and Draco felt him lace their fingers together. He did it as though it was the most natural thing in the world and not at all an odd gesture for two people who’d spent nearly a decade bickering and trying to make each other’s lives miserable, and then another decade ignoring the other’s very existence.

“I’ve watched you for a long time, Draco. I might not know everything that goes on inside that head of yours, you do guard your thoughts and secrets well, but I think I have a fairly good idea.”

Draco smiled to himself.

He made no attempt to pull away and couldn’t bring himself to even consider their body contact to be even just a little inappropriate.

Instead, he slowly lifted his mug off the sturdy wooden table and brought it up to his lips. He inhaled one last time, then took several small sips. As the lemony, malty sweetness engaged his taste buds, he sighed softly and smiled contently.

“Like it?”

Draco chuckled.

“Love it,” he replied.

Harry squeezed his hand one more time, then slowly pulled away, and rounding the table, he sat down across from him and stretched his legs out in front of him. Draco felt Harry’s bare feet brush against his socked ankles and a shiver of excitement zapped up his leg and joined the one that already pooled low in his groin. He didn’t know whether Harry had deliberately brushed up against him, and he made no effort to find out. Instead, he decided to change the topic altogether.

“Can I stay the night?” he asked.

Harry, who’d just brought his own mug up to his lips, and was about to take a sip, paused, lifted his gaze and looked at him with sparkling green eyes that ignited a deep sense of longing inside of Draco.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been intimate with anyone, but he suspected it had probably been around the time when he and Astoria had conceived Scorpius. What with being sober, his body was slowly waking up from dormancy, and it demanded attention, hungered for it even. He wanted to be held and caressed, and he wanted to feel another person’s body against and underneath and wrapped around his own. He craved body contact, and the longer he and Harry innocently flirted with each other, the stronger the desire became.

Sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder whether Harry knew about his long-lasting crush on him. While he’d never been especially obvious about it, preferring to keep his feelings under wraps, he certainly hadn’t done anything to discourage Harry’s innocent advances, his playful banter, and cheeky, somewhat sexual innuendoes. In fact, he rather welcomed the attention and hoped to get much more of it. It was thrilling and intoxicating in the best possible way.

Harry smiled, and the soft upward slant of his lips pulled Draco right out of his desire to feel another person’s body, preferably Harry’s body, pressed up against his own.

Instead, he found himself imagining what it might feel like to kiss Harry and find himself locked at lips with this gorgeous man, who had literally saved his life, and still did everything in his power to support him, as well as provide him with a strong network of people to fall back on in case the going got tough.

Over the years, he’d fantasied about kissing Harry more times than he cared to remember and recently, he often found himself wishing that he had the boisterous courage to take Harry’s face in his hands and snog him until they were both breathless and stumbling about the place in an attempt to tear each other’s clothes off. It was a little fantasy, Draco frequently indulged in, and although he hadn’t done anything about it, the desire to grab his cock and stroke it firmly while he stood underneath the running shower, was getting stronger and stronger. He didn’t think it would be much longer until he finally gave in to the thirst he felt whenever he let that little fantasy get the better of him.

“That room up on the fourth floor is yours, Draco. You never have to ask whether you can stay the night. You just do. You are welcome here; I’ve told you that many times already, but I will continue to do so for as long as it takes for that message to sink in properly.”

Draco took a few sips from his tea.

He smiled.

He felt incredibly giddy but tried his hardest not to show that.

“Thanks, Harry.”

Harry shrugged.

“What can I say, I like having a flamboyant Slytherin around the place. You’re one of the few people who won’t shy away from a verbal sparring match.”

Draco concealed his amusement behind his mug.

 _I wouldn’t mind having a non-verbal kissing competition with you either_ , he thought but hastily swallowed those words down, lest they tried to make an appearance and he had some awkward explaining to do. To make absolutely sure that he didn’t accidentally confess his desire to want to make out with Harry, he took several sips of his tea.

“I’m honoured that you enjoy our conversations, but I do have an issue with being branded a flamboyant Slytherin.”

Harry gave him a lopsided grin.

He drank more of his tea, and with a casual wave of his hand he summoned a plate with two of Draco’s favourite raspberry and vanilla bean tarts.

Draco’s eyes widened and setting his mug down, he immediately reached out for one and sank his teeth into the crumbly rich crust, savouring the sweet softness of the dessert along with its divine filling.

“On a good day you are very flamboyant, my dear Draco, much like Scorp. You are full of energy, excitement, and cheerfulness. You are confident about what you wear and relish in putting on a stylish outfit to attract attention. Correct me if I’m wrong, but if that isn’t the definition of _flamboyant_ , then one of our dictionaries is wrong, and I’m going to go out on a limb here and boldly say that it isn’t mine.”

Draco rolled his eyes, and while he ignored Harry’s sassy dig at him, he did grab the dragon by its talons and cheekily answered back.

“That’s called having good taste, Potter.”

Harry shrugged.

“Perhaps. I just call it being Draco. You are one of a kind, Malfoy.”

Draco felt his cheeks heat a little and hastily took another bite of his tart, then washed it down with several sips of hot tea.

“Enough already,” he whispered.

Even though Harry remained silent, just as he’d requested, Draco could feel his eyes burn into him, and after dithering for several minutes, he finally looked up and locked eyes with Harry.

Dashingly handsome was the first thought that came to Draco’s mind, and he recalled what Harry had looked like back at Hogwarts.

At first, he’d been short and strangely nerdish. He’d always worn clothes that were several sizes too big for him. In fact, the only clothes that had ever fitted him properly had been his Hogwarts school uniform and his Quidditch gear.

After a few years, he’d suddenly grown tall and sported a healthy set of muscles from playing Quidditch. There’d always been a nervous sort of energy about him like he was never quite at ease, which Draco supposed had an ounce of truth to it. He didn’t think it was possible to feel relaxed when a megalomaniac wanted one dead.

Still, compared to well over a decade ago, Harry had filled out in a different way, one that Draco couldn’t help but notice time and time again.

Harry’s muscular body and his quick reaction skills came from years of hard work as an Auror, and possibly also as a father-of-three who was used to chase after a bunch of rowdy children.

There was an exquisite sexiness to it, one that Draco couldn’t get enough off, no matter how hard he tried. Though, if he was honest, he hadn’t tried all that hard, and he had no intention of making an effort to stop appreciating the Adonis, Harry had turned into.

Draco rather liked Harry’s tanned skin.

It had a perfectly healthy glow to it.

He also liked Harry’s strong arms and muscular legs, his confident stride and the delicate laughter lines that spread out all over his face. On the inside, he was still that dorky boy he’d bumped into so many years ago at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. On the outside, he’d grown into a mature and responsible adult with a heart of gold.

“Have you given any more thought to go and see that Healer at St. Mungo’s Hospital, we talked about?”

Instantly drawn out of his silent musings about Harry’s glorious body and character, Draco finished off his tart and washing it down with a bit more tea, he shook his head.

“In passing yes, in-depth no.”

Harry nodded.

“Well, take your time whenever you’re ready.”

Draco smiled.

“Thanks, I appreciate you not giving me pressure.”

“My pleasure, besides it would be entirely counterproductive to force you to do something you don’t yet feel ready for.”

“Talking about Healers, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about though.”

“Oh?”

Draco gently set his mug down on the table and clasped his hands together, then wrenched them apart again. He pulled his wedding ring off the third finger of his left hand and aimlessly toyed with his. As he did so, his eyes fell onto Harry’s bare left hand. There was a faint mark on his left ring finger, one that indicated that he’d once been a married man, but that his union was a thing of the past.

Putting the ring down onto the table, Draco placed his hand on top of it. He didn’t know why he still wore his ring. He and Astoria hadn’t been man and wife for the longest time. In fact, sometimes he couldn’t help but think that they’d only ever been married on paper. Their hearts had never bound themselves together, and neither had their souls.

Still, Astoria’s love for him was strong, unfaltering, and strangely enough, Draco loved her for that. Despite everything he’d put her through, she’d stuck by him, and done her best to raise their son and his heir.

She amazed him.

She could have left a long time ago, had threatened to do so on numerous occasions, but she’d never followed through, hadn’t found it in her to leave him for dead. Draco didn’t know how to thank her for that sort of unfaltering support, but it only served to encourage him to try even harder to remain sober. If Astoria had shouldered the burden of remaining married to a drunkard all the years, then he certainly could fight to stay dry.

Swallowing a sigh, Draco picked the ring up again and took a brief glance at its inscription ― the date of his and Astoria’s wedding, along with their names.

“Astoria,” he eventually said.

He whispered his wife’s name, though he wasn’t quite sure why. It wasn’t like they were in a public place, and the kids were sound asleep upstairs.

“I’m worried about her.”

“How so?”

Draco lifted his gaze and glared at Harry.

“Don’t play dumb, you’ve seen what she looks like.”

Harry sighed softly.

Draco watched him wrap both hands around his mug.

“I feel that’s a conversation you should be having with your wife and not with me, Draco.”

Draco felt like growling at Harry but swallowed the urge to do so.

“And I feel like you know something that you’re not telling me.”

Harry smiled.

It was an evasive sort of smile, and his answer was too.

“I know a lot of things that I’m not telling you.”

“Potter, don’t be deliberately infuriating.”

Leaving his ring lying on the table, Draco crossed his arms.

“Tell me,” he said.

He forced himself to soften his voice and hoped that it might entice Harry to confide in him.

“I cannot, Astoria swore me to secrecy.”

“An Unbreakable Vow?”

Harry shook his head.

“No, Draco, a simple promise to guard her secret. A promise much like the one I made to you.”

“But you know something.”

Harry sighed.

“I do. But I won’t share. The only way we’ll talk about it is if she tells me that it’s okay to talk about it, which presently isn’t the case.”

“I really am worried about her. Whenever I do get to see her, she looks like a ghost, and whenever I don’t get to see her, it’s because she’s either got a splitting headache or an urgent appointment. Something’s very wrong.”

Harry gave a non-committal shrug.

For a moment, Draco contemplated letting it infuriate him but then decided against her.

“On paper, she’s still my wife, and she’s the mother of my child, yet I have no idea how to talk to her about this. I can’t seem to bring myself to ask her, which is ridiculous, I do know that, but it’s the truth.”

Harry turned his head sideways and glanced into the direction of the kitchen sink. His eyes caught sight of something, settled on the object for a while, then he abruptly turned his head, and looked right at him.

The sudden movement gave Draco pause and slowly uncrossing his arms, he left rested them on the table. He pressed a fingertip to the smooth wood, and he rubbed against it. He could tell that Harry was fighting with himself to keep his mouth shut, and pressed his lips tightly together to stop himself from pushing Harry into revealing something, he’d promised not to. Despite his curiosity, he didn’t want Harry to break his promise. It wasn’t fair on him or Astoria.

“You’d do well to spend a bit more time with her, Draco. I know you’ve never been close, but you care about each other, and perhaps spending a few afternoons together, eating tarts and drinking tea, would do you both the world of good.”

Draco sighed.

“Hearing you say that, well, my brain wants to think the worst.”

In response to that, Harry reached out and placed his hand on top of his and squeezed.

For a moment, Draco closed his eyes and relished in the body contact, then a piercing wail cut through the silence.

“Daaaaaaaaaad!!!”

Scorpius hollered from upstairs.

Loud and unrestraint sobbing followed, then bare feet came trampling down the stairs and by the time Scorpius appeared in the hallway that led to the kitchen, Draco was on his feet and halfway over the threshold out of the kitchen.

He crouched down, wrapped his arms tightly around Scorpius and scooped him up.

Scorpius clung to him, cried and trembled and whimpered.

“Hush my little boy, what is it?”

Draco soothingly rubbed Scorpius’ back and returning into the kitchen, he helplessly looked at Harry, who’d also jumped to his feet and had drawn his wand.

Scorpius sobbed even harder.

Somehow, he managed to choke out the reason as to why he was so upset, then the floodgates opened up properly, and he wept like there was no tomorrow.

Draco had never seen or heard his son act like this, and it terrified him. An invisible force clutched at his heart, twisting, turning, and squeezing it, and it struggled against the vice grip, fighting to beat rhythmically.

Apparently, Scorpius had woken up to go to the bathroom and after making his way back to bed, he’d discovered that there was a massive three-headed monster beside the bed and without lingering to get a closer look, he’d run for his life, dragging the door closed behind him as he’d left to trap the mean monster.

Draco frowned.

He tightened his hold on Scorpius and sitting down, he continued to rub his back in an attempt to soothe him. He was only marginally successful, and Scorpius repeatedly attempted to crawl right into him, trying to hide from the world.

Draco looked at Harry and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“A boggart?” he asked.

Harry shrugged.

“Or a nightmare. I’ll go check it out. You stay here with him.”

Draco nodded.

“Thanks.”

“Not a bother.”

With a smile, Harry disapparated, and Draco focused all of his attention on Scorpius, trying to convince him to calm down. He offered him a sip of hot sweet tea, and when his son wrapped both hands around the mug, Draco helped him guide it to his lips.

Scorpius slurped his tea, and although Draco didn’t like the sound, he said nothing.

Instead, he set the mug down again and ruffled Scorpius messy hair.

“Would you like a bit of Daddy’s favourite tart?”

Scorpius nodded.

There was a bit of a spark in his silvery-grey eyes and smiling, Draco pulled him close and kissed his forehead.

“You’re safe, my darling. I’ll never let anything or anyone hurt you, I swear. For as long as I live, I’ll always protect you.”

Scorpius smiled a bit.

“You’re the bestest dad.”

Draco chuckled.

“Thanks for the praise, Scorp.”

He reached out and dragged the small plate with the one remaining tart close to Scorpius, who grabbed it with both hands and bit into it. Crumbly crust fell all over his pyjamas and Draco’s clothes, but instead of paying the mess any heed, Draco affectionately ruffled his son’s hair and watched him eat.

Scorpius managed about one-third of the tart, then put it down and wiped his hand with the back of his hand.

Draco clicked his tongue.

“We’ve got tissues for that, cheeky.”

Scorpius looked at him blinked.

“Sorry, Dad.”

“It’s alright. I’ll make an exception tonight because you’ve had a fright. Just promise me not to make it a habit.”

Scorpius nodded.

“I promise.”

“That’s my good boy.”

In response, Scorpius curled into him, and Draco wrapped his arms around him, hugging him close.

A minute or so later, Harry returned to the kitchen. He walked into the room with an impressive silver stag trailing behind him, and while Draco had seen a corporal Patronus before, Scorpius had not.

Inevitably, he gasped and instantly sat upright.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” he said.

He stared at the stag with eyes as big as saucers and placing a finger underneath Scorpius’ chin, Draco reminded him to close his mouth.

Harry grinned.

“Isn’t it just? That’s my Patronus. He just helped me get rid of a mean magic creature that got lost in your dad’s bedroom. But it’s all gone now, and it’s safe to go back upstairs.”

Draco frowned.

“A Patronus isn’t normally the spell one uses to defeat a Boggart.”

Harry shrugged.

“Boggarts like to change into Dementors when I attempt to vanquish them.”

For a moment, Draco didn’t know what to do with that piece of information. Then he remembered Harry’s reaction towards Dementors back in their third year, and his heart lurched painfully in his chest. Back then he’d been a proper dick about Harry’s weakness and filled with remorse, he averted his eyes, and for a few seconds, he stared at the silver hooves of Harry’s Patronus, then he gathered up all of his courage and lifted his gaze to meet Harry’s eyes.

“I’m sorry for back then,” he said quietly.

As he apologised, he instinctively hugged Scorpius tighter.

Harry waved his apology off.

“Ancient history.”

Draco swallowed a sigh but focused on Scorpius.

“Come on, let’s get you back to bed, little man, it’s all safe again.”

Scorpius looked rather sceptical.

“Stay with me?” he asked.

Draco smiled and combed his fingers through Scorpius’ soft hair.

“Of course.”

“And the stag. It stays, too, please.”

Getting to his feet, Draco frowned at Harry, who merely gave him a lopsided sort of grin.

“Sure Scorp, Uncle Harry’s stag will keep you company until you’re fast asleep again.”

Draco pressed his lips together.

“You don’t have to. I’m sure you have other more important things to do.”

Harry shrugged again.

“Child safety always comes first in this house. Scorp wants the company of the stag, so Scorp gets the company of a stag.”

Draco rolled his eyes but said nothing in response.

Instead, he made his way out of the kitchen and slowly climbed the staircase all the way up to the fourth floor. Harry and his stag followed.

Finding the door to his room open, Draco walked inside.

Except for the lamp on his nightstand, all the lights were off, and heading over to the bed, he placed Scorpius in the centre of it and watched him crawl underneath the covers.

“You have to come to bed too, Dad,” he demanded.

Draco chuckled softly.

“Can I change into a pair of pyjamas or do I have to sleep in this?”

“Hurry up then!”

Draco sighed.

“Demanding little prince,” he said.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Harry said.

Draco mouthed a silent thanks and retrieving a pair of dark-green silk pyjamas, he left the room and headed into the nearby bathroom to change his clothes and brush his teeth. He also used the look.

It took him about five minutes to get ready, and when he returned to his room, he found the stag patiently standing on the right side of his bed, while Harry had sat down at the foot of his bed.

Since it wasn’t the first time that Harry had watched him get into bed, Draco simply threw the covers back, climbed underneath and pulled the duvet up to his chest.

Scorpius snuggled closer and wrapping one arm around his son, Draco hugged him.

“Uncle Harry, if you’re tired, you can get in too.”

Draco coughed.

“Excuse me, but I’m the one who’ll decide who gets to join you and me in bed.”

Scorpius pouted and vanished underneath the covers.

Draco turned his head and looked at Harry, who smirked at him.

There was a devilish sparkle in his impossibly green eyes.

“So…” he drawled.

“Am I invited?”

Draco glowered at him.

“You wish, Potter.”

Harry chuckled.

“And what if I do?”

Draco swallowed hard.

He had no idea how to respond to that.

Thankfully, Harry made the decision from him and getting up, he stretched a bit.

“You two have a good night, I want to go and check on the kids. I’ll leave the spell active for a little longer.”

Draco nodded.

He couldn’t think of a single intelligent thing to say, and so he simply wished Harry a good night in return.

Harry smiled.

“See you at breakfast,” he said, then left the room and closed the door behind him.

Draco glanced at the Patronus, and the stag gave him a rather judgemental look, or at least he was convinced it did.

He scowled.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

The stag tilted his head slightly to the side and blinked.

For a moment, he glowered at it, then he defiantly turned away and curled around Scorpius, engulfing him in a protective hug.

* * *

* * *

 


	11. When Draco Malfoy Does What Draco Malfoy Does Best: Drive Harry Potter Spare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well.
> 
> It's been a while since I updated this WIP but that doesn't mean I've forgotten about it. I temporarily left it be when I made the last-minute decision to write some Christmas fluff, then focused on another WIP for a while.
> 
> I'm officially on my winter break for the next month but instead of turning it into a month of endless writing, like I did last year, I'm going to spend it with my girlfriend. That means I'm taking a bit of time away from my writing to focus on her. But from mid-February onwards, my focus will be solely on this fic and I'll be working hard to finish it up.
> 
> In the meantime, I would like to offer you another chapter that will probably make you want to kill me. Please don't. If you do, you'll never see the end of this story.
> 
> Love,  
> Selly

* * *

* * *

Harry came up to the landing and turning left, he headed down the corridor, past the bathroom next to Draco’s room, and then suddenly stopped in his tracks. Holding his breath, he strained his ears and wondered whether he had imagined that sound or whether―

There it was again, a soft and quiet moan, barely audible over the sound of running water.

Harry’s lips curled into a smile.

Draco was obviously doing a bit more than just scrubbing off the grime of the day.

The thought struck Harry like lightning, and a shiver ran down his spine as realisation properly dawned on him.

Draco was―

He was―

Harry felt his face head and pressed his lips firmly together. He wanted to refuse to imagine Draco naked in the shower, with hot water cascading down over him, flattening his hair, and rolling down his pale milky skin. His mind, however, was a treacherous and fickle friend. It wasn’t quite strong enough to resist the temptation of those sizzling thoughts.

He had next to no idea about Draco’s wanking preferences, but for some reason, Harry was convinced that Draco was the sort of man who liked to press the flat palm of one hand against the cold, wet tiles in front of him while he ran his other hand up and down his shaft, slowly stroking himself to completion.

Perhaps, Draco also liked to tilt his head up and let the water run over his face while he licked his lips and chased the one or other drop of water with the tip of his tongue.

Harry only barely managed to suppress the groan that rose from the depths of his chest and flew to the tip of his tongue. He curled his bare feet into the thick carpet beneath his feet and balled his fists, pressing them against the outside of his thighs.

Another low moan escaped Draco’s lips and filled Harry’s ears. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and shook his head.

 _No_ , he thought, this was wrong. He couldn’t possibly stand here and listen to Draco having a wank in the shower, but his mind, once again, had other ideas.

 _Draco Malfoy, who has had a crush on you since forever, is in your house and he’s having a wank_ ―

Harry’s mind short-circuited at that, and he shuddered. A fireball of heat struck him right in the centre of his groin and uncoiled, slowly, teasingly, taunting him with his desire. He felt his body react and his cock strained against the stiff fabric of his dark jeans, forcing him to swallow another groan. His right hand jerked and unclasping it, he pressed his palm against his cock and squeezed. It hardened further, filled out more, and Harry licked his lips. He turned his head and stared at the closed bathroom door.

A small part of him wanted to push the door open and step into the shower, fully-clothed. He wanted to sink onto his knees in front of Draco, grab his shoulders and suck his cock into this mouth. He wanted to lick and suck and bob his head until Draco exploded against the back of his mouth and swallowed.

 _Gah_ ―

Harry tried to snap out of the fantasy, but it was just too damn hard.

His mind dismissed his disdain and continued to supply him with a variety of images that had him rock-hard in seconds. He palmed himself through the thick material of his trousers and just about managed to swallow a whimper.

Another moan―this one louder and longer―drifted over to him, and Harry strained his ears a bit more, listened closer. He had no idea whether it was wishful thinking or not but he was confident that he could hear the rhythmic sound of Draco’s hand, wrapped around his cock, moving up and down along the entire length of his shaft―

Harry resolutely banished that thought and turning on his heel, he walked back into the direction he’d just come from. He was painfully hard and walking down the stairs was sure torture, but he didn’t stop to duck into one of the spare bedrooms to relieve himself of his problem.

No, absolutely not.

He stopped by his study, grabbed a bunch of case reports, he needed to read and sign off on, and made his way into the kitchen. Not bothering to draw his wand, he used wandless magic to levitate the pile of indecent statements over to the kitchen table, then distracted himself with making coffee.

He didn’t care that it was already seven o’clock in the evening and refusing to think about whether Draco had already had dinner or not― any thought of him, no matter how trivial was yet another chance for his mind to supply him with all sorts of filthy ideas that involved him and Draco in several very compromising situations.

Harry groaned and slammed his fist on the kitchen counter. He did it with so much force that the teaspoon, he’d placed next to his favourite mug, jumped into the air.

As if controlled by magic, it hovered for a split-second, then dropped back down onto the wooden worktop.

Mildly annoyed, Harry growled, and with a flick of his hand, he sent the teaspoon sailing straight into the sink where it landed with a loud bang.

Apparently, sexual frustration was a thing he suffered from.

For the first time in his entire life.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Feeling a bit more relaxed, he resumed brewing coffee and made himself a sandwich with lettuce, tomato slices, cucumber, ham, and cheese. Coffee and sandwich plate in hand, Harry made his way over to the kitchen table and settled on his usual chair. He blew over his coffee, took a few sips, then reached for the first case report, and opening it, he wandlessly summoned a pen. It flew into his outstretched hand, and wrapping his fingers around it, Harry’s mind briefly drifted to wrapping his hand around something else entirely.

He shoved the thought away and buried himself in catching up on his work.

Within half an hour, he was seriously considering firing one of his Junior Aurors for his ineptitude when it came to spelling the word ‘ _lacewing_ ’ ― there was no ‘ _s_ ’ in there. Thoroughly annoyed, Harry transfigured the ink inside his pen to red and went through Peterson’s reports with a fine toothcomb, underlining every single spelling mistake, he found.

 

“Feeling a bit petty tonight, aren’t we, _Auror_ Potter?”

Jumping half a mile out of his skin, Harry spilt some of his coffee all over the file in front of him and cursed under his breath.

“What the fuck, Malfoy! Are you fucking trying to give me a heart attack?”

Draco laughed out loud.

“I wasn’t, but now that you mention it, the idea appeals.”

Harry rolled his eyes and summoned a roll of kitchen towels, using them to mop up the mess. He drew his wand and hit the incident report in front of him with a mild drying charm, then inspected it from several angles.

“Well, that’s ruined,” he said with a sigh.

Draco sat down on the chair across from him, pulled foot up onto the chair and reaching for Harry’s coffee cup, he took a sip, then carefully balanced the mug on top of his knee.

“If you’d a time-slowing charm instead of trying to save the parchment the Muggle way, it wouldn’t be,” Draco pointed out.

Harry glared at him and pressed his lips firmly together.

Draco’s hair was still damp, and even though it was a tousled mess, the look suited him. He was wearing a long-sleeved jumper, and a pair of washed-out light-blue jeans and Harry’s frayed mind had only one thought ― _delectable_.

Harry mentally kicked himself and banished this particular thought, along with every single other fantasy he had about sweeping his paperwork onto the floor and ravishing Draco on the kitchen table.

“That’s mine, you know,” he said, pointing at his coffee cup.

A positively wicked glint flickered in Draco’s silvery-grey eyes, and he smirked.

“It _was_ yours, Potter. Finder’s keeper.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“You didn’t find it.”

Draco shrugged.

“You didn’t defend it.”

“I was busy cleaning up the mess you caused me to make.”

Draco chuckled.

“I see, not only petty but also tetchy. What happened, Potter, huh? Tell me, what horrid creature crawled up your arse and died there?”

Harry grumbled under his breath.

 _I wish something had crawled up my arse_ , he thought.

“Why are you so happy anyway, Malfoy?”

The expression on Draco’s face turned positively devious, and Harry instantly regretted asking. He knew why Draco was in such a good mood. He’d just had a shower, and not only that, but he’d also had an orgasm.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Potter.”

Draco deliberately taunted him and took another sip of what had once been Harry’s coffee.

 _I wouldn’t; actually_ , Harry thought.

He tried his hardest not to think about Draco, naked, in the shower, wanking, but his mind was determined to give him a hard time. Figuratively and literally speaking.

He sighed and pushing his glasses up, he rubbed his tired eyes.

“Mad day at the DMLE,” he mumbled, the words muffled by the fact that he had his hands in front of his face.

“I don’t envy you,” Draco said.

Through a narrow gap between his fingers, Harry watched Draco get to his feet. He set the mug down on the table and stretched a little. Harry tried his best to pretend that he hadn’t just seen Draco’s jumper ride up and expose a small stripe of his pale abdomen. He inhaled deeply, squeezed his eyes firmly shut, and held his breath until he felt Draco’s long fingers on his shoulders.

He shuddered and let his hands drop onto the table, then tilted his head back and looked at Draco.

Draco’s face was blurry and bringing one hand up to his face, he adjusted his glasses.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

He had no idea why his voice was this low and sounded so gruff, but it made him shudder.

Draco smiled.

“Giving you a shoulder rub. Now sit properly.”

Harry hesitated for a moment but eventually did as told and when Draco began to massage his shoulders and systematically iron out all the little kinks in his muscles, he bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The taste of copper and iron spread through his mouth, and he pulled a disgusted face. He was about to reach for his coffee mug, hoping that Draco hadn’t finished it all when Draco found a particularly nasty tension knot and pressed into it with his right thumb.

Harry groaned.

It sounded positively indecent, and his cock twitched in its confines. Harry wondered whether there was any point in trying to tell it to behave, but gave up on the idea of trying to do anything else but stop himself from jumping Draco. He tried to focus but his mind was hazy and not at all willing to collaborate with him.

Annoyed, he gave up.

He closed his eyes and let Draco work his magic.

After about ten minutes of Draco massaging his shoulders, persistently untwisting several tension knots, Harry stopped him by bringing his left hand up and placing it above Draco’s right one, stilling his movement.

“Where did you learn that?” he asked.

It didn’t even surprise him that his voice was still low and husky, but he did clear his throat.

“The clinic has a spa; I went for a couple of treatments. It isn’t that hard to pick up on.”

Harry hummed and nodded in silent acknowledgement.

“’s nice,” he mumbled.

He squeezed Draco’s hand again.

“You’re welcome,” Draco said.

His voice was soft, and it wrapped itself around Harry like a cocoon of comfort. He tilted his head back and looked up at Draco, who smiled down at him.

“How are your sessions with the healer going?” he asked.

Draco shrugged.

“It’s only been three sessions. We’re just talking.”

“Do you think it’s helping?”

“I don’t know. But it’s draining, like seriously draining. After this morning’s session, and never mind that it took me forever to get back here without magic, I went straight to bed and slept until about half-past six.”

Harry sighed.

“I wish I had time to do that.”

Draco chuckled.

“What? Sleep all day?”

Harry nodded.

“Hm, yes that. Between the kids and the job, it’s damn near impossible to get a consecutive seven hours of sleep.”

“The kids aren’t here today, though. Why don’t you call it a night and go to bed early?”

Harry grimaced, and straightened up a little.

“I wish I could. But I really need to check these reports.”

Draco grinned.

“What? For spelling mistakes? I can help you with that.”

Harry scoffed.

“I wish. Thankfully it’s only Peterson who is incapable of spelling lacewing flies and other potions ingredients.”

“Fire him,” Draco suggested.

Harry huffed out a breath of air and with it a rumble of laughter.

“Funny, I thought the same thing just before you scared me half to death.”

Draco grinned.

“And I thought you’d spontaneously decided to hang up your Auror boots and decided to become a Professor at Hogwarts.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Hm, no thanks. Minerva does keep trying to recruit me, but no thanks.”

“Why not? I think you’d be good at it.”

Harry chuckled.

He gave Draco’s hand a gentle squeeze, and although he was conscious of the fact that he’d already lingered for far longer than strictly necessary, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

“I assure you I’d be absolutely horrible as a Professor. One Auror’s abysmal spelling is enough to send me over the edge. What do you think I’d do with a whole classroom full of students intend on driving me around the bend?”

Draco laughed, and in that very moment, it was the most beautiful sound, Harry had ever heard. Everything simply paled in comparison. The free and unrestrained way he shook with laughter and the way his eyes twinkled made Harry just a little emotional and he swallowed hard.

“Dole out detention?” Draco offered between bouts of laughter. “I can see the headlines of the Prophet already. _Harry Potter Driven To Madness By Throng Of First-Year Hogwarts Students_.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh too. He rose to his feet and without letting go of Draco’s hand, he turned around to face him properly.

They grinned at each other, then fell silent, and Harry felt his other hand switch. He desperately wanted to cup Draco’s cheek, caress his sharp jawline, and press his thumb to Draco’s slightly parted and perfectly pink lips.

“You’ve come so far, Draco, I’m so bloody proud of you. Nine months sober,” he whispered.

He watched as Draco’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Draco’s eyes filled with unshed tears and Harry watched as he hastily blinked them away.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Harry,” he said, his voice creakingly slightly.

He cleared his throat, and his cheeks flushed a delectable shade of light-pink.

Harry’s eyes dropped down to Draco’s lips, and he watched as Draco wetted them with the tip of his tongue then swallowed again.

 _Gosh, I want to kiss you so bad_ , he thought, and it took Harry every last ounce of self-control to stop himself from closing the gap between them and pressing his lips Draco’s to find out whether they were really as soft as he imagined them to be. With the most considerable effort, he forced himself to look into Draco’s eyes instead of dreaming about devouring his lips and smiled.

“You didn’t need to do it without me, Draco, and you won’t ever have to. I promised you I’d be there for you and I meant that.”

Draco smiled.

It was a soft, almost shy sort of smile, the kind which Harry had never seen before. It made his stomach flip over, and a swarm of butterflies madly fluttered about his insides. He came alive with them.

“Thank you, Potter, I mean it. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.”

“But you aren’t. You’re going to stick around for many more years, and you’re going to drive me absolutely spare.”

Draco chuckled.

“Yes, Sir.”

He mock-saluted.

Harry laughed.

“Wanker.”

The glint in Draco’s eyes did bode well.

Neither did the smirk that curled itself around his lips like the snake on the crest of Slytherin.

“Sometimes,” he said.

Harry groaned.

He absolutely didn’t want to think about the fact that he’d accidentally caught Draco wanking in the shower. Finally letting go of Draco’s hand, he walked over and stuck his head into the fridge, perusing its contents. He grabbed two oranges from the fruit shelf, and leaning back against the kitchen counter, he started to peel one of them.

Draco arched an eyebrow at him and watched him curiously.

“What’s the matter, Potter?” he asked.

Harry hastily shoved a large piece of orange into his mouth and shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said.

Draco looked entirely unconvinced.

He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and shuffled from one sockless foot to the other.

Harry ate another piece of orange.

“You’re acting weird tonight,” Draco said.

Harry laughed and promptly choked on a bit of orange juice. He coughed and sputtered and leaving the orange be, he poured himself a glass of water and drank about half of it.

“I’m always weird,” he said.

Draco laughed.

“That you are. Listen, if those reports can wait an hour or so, could we― Would you like to go for a bit of a walk around the neighbourhood?”

Harry smiled.

“Those reports can’t wait, but I’m going to join you anyway. I need to clear my head.”

Draco nodded.

“I’ll go grab my jacket from upstairs.”

“Hm, yes, you do that.”

With a smile, Draco turned away and left the kitchen. The second he’d left the room; Harry turned to face the fridge and pressed his forehead against the cold metal door. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath and let out a long-suffering sigh.

* * *

* * *

 


End file.
